provided that when morning rolls around
the dulcet sky is not hewn and falling
like calamity around my neck,
and the ground is not rent with grief
or torn asunder with greed,
and the ocean has not swallowed me up
and left me hidden within her tides,
tomorrow I will love you still.
When the sudden sun sneaks
like a thief across the horizon
and steals your face from my fitful slumber,
I will stretch and remember Summer days
and the sweet aroma of your smile.
If deep within the mountain-dark night
my demons have encamped around me
and drawn pictures of tragedy in my mind’s eye,
I will think of the softness of your hands,
the trusting heaviness of your whispered secrets.
I have made myself a liar.
Even if I woke with a millstone tied around my neck,
and the ground opened up a chasm to swallow me,
and if the sea rose up around me,
then I would sing your saltwater praises.
I will love you still.