30/01: The Kind of Love That Leaves Marks

The sounds in room 270
coat the darkness with
a comforting soundtrack
tonight. To my right
the ticking of a clock
to my left, the hissing
of a device, overhead
the tapping of a monitor
and just across me
the beautiful familiar
humming of your
deepest sleep, then the
disruptive occasional snore
mimicking the biggest
sound of the baddest drum.

This afternoon as surgeons
sliced you open, legions
of poets, artists, eccentrics,
fundamentalists, and regular
folk sent love and light to
fill your every space with
amazing grace. Nothing will
ever be the same again.
And to remind you of
this miracle, a new mark
now runs down the
middle of you, starting
just below your navel.

Soon, a scar, sculptural
reminder of the beauty
that came your way today.
I remember as I graze
my scar from the
morning steel skated
on skin, breaking flesh.
A fantastic burst
of red figure eight,
crimson arabesque
into graceful lunge
in shades of brown.

We are both marked now.