There is the us
In every thing
The us is prolonged presence
That begins with the ritual of a day
And ends with the starry time that sets
Why fill your heart with injury, trauma
Why coil your angst on troubled imagination?
The US exists in deeper corners of the heart--
Etched like the heart's painting.
The US loves the peace of doves in flight
That flames the visual of love's delight
The US is never frozen in winter
The US is lit with blanket of hope
That ruins winter's ice
The US is never motive laden
But shares its abundant love
In the greetings of the heart
The US is care given to a relationship
That will fuse the permanence of a habitation.