Devotion Poem, In Sight

Came home from hosp yest. Surgery seems to have freed some nerve that were caught/inflamed and there has been allowed. Some small movements showing hope of further. Progress. Here, I remain in a constant battle with post-surgery pain, and feeling unworthy of my continuous calls to my husband for his assistance. This poem was written this morning as I lay between the love that surpasses any kind of binding paralysis and death that may free its stifling but leave a never ending, never mending pain. Devotion Poem, In Sight Before you I lie on a tiny bed, motionless In a tightly woven cocoon of pain, Awaiting the freedom of wellness to lift My limbs into some realm of comfort; While you sit in the corner of our blue sofa, As far away as only the length of your height, Alert to a catch of my every groan Or the possible twitching of nerves within my limbs. But, it is now the monumentals of the invisible Which I try so to send to you, and Which I keep praying might be seen — the things Of truly interacting in love which I yearn to relay, Like rising and extending my arms to your glances,L Like not being needy, but able, instead, to serve you, Even a warm cup of coffee on these cooler Autumn mornings, or to fetch the pens and sketchbooks For myself, taking the further tasking from you — If only not to be a continuous rack of chores for you; I lay in this dark cocoon of disability And try to project all the colors and symphonies Of love caught aching within my heart and unable To branch this short distance to actually wrap In your arms or rest upon your shoulder. I curse The separating swells of paralysis that divide us! It astounds me...how completely able are the motions Of paralysis, be they physical or emotional, At casting divisions Between what pretends a state of death And what seeks to present living... And that brings on the tears For it is only the slightest sign in the rise and fall Of breathing from within this cocoon That shows life remains. I am not gone, And death has not gripped our space In its vacuum. Our love, although so slightly Able to ripple the mere distance, does breathe And thus, touch. Oh, so how I pray The touching Remains and increases ...as it takes The gracing of God To keep this stay of love and life within us. For, I could be dead, but, no, even as I lay here Within this aspiring cocoon, I am still Beside you, within your sight, Within your receipt of my projected Realms of the colors of my love, so vibrant always for you.