“Can I move in with you?” she never asked. Each heart was open.
We’d mourned the fact her boyfriend was demanding an abortion.
Our mobile home was big enough for us to raise the baby,
But where she’d live herself, could we not say yes no or maybe?
The two of us were passionate about her; sad but true,
Each feared the other’s attitude if but the other knew,
And so through vacuous words we managed well to keep our distance
From feelings that, in time, ensured the child’s nonexistence.
She was an artful vision; her clear laughter a cantata.
She lived her life on terms we knew from the Desiderata
Whose words she read aloud the afternoon when we were married.
Though we two soon were dragged from her; those memories we carried
While she was out of reach on sojourns seventeen long years.
Now that time has passed; she has forgiven us our fears
As in our hearts the three of us were married on that day
When poetry reflected all we shared but wouldn’t say,
We say, for always, “Our home’s yours; you know we both love you.
We’d be glad just to be together.” Simplest things are true.