Trust
He stands somewhere
between
football depravity
and
butterfly nighttime kisses ~
soccer shin splints
and
lilac blooms perfuming
his dreams and unpatience.
He knows of loss and
death
spine bending
penance ceaseless.
He writes with quiet introspection
and
bloody chaos and
confusion
tempered
with
devotion and steadfast commitment.
He found me drowning.
Picked me up
and
carried me
uncomplaining
of the added weight.
Before me stands the meaning
of the love
of a friend.
Trustworthy.
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006
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