Center of the Universe

Raining this morning, and
she's sick again, lying
next to you, as a
mini-you. I'm putting
my clothes on in the
dark again, about to
leave, about to wonder
how your day will evolve.
You are mother to our child,
you are mother to motherless
man, you are the skin
and the sheath that protects
us all. From the rain
on Monday morning, from
the coughing fits in the
night, from the stubbed
toes and the tears. It's
more than all this, mother
of my world. You are a
prayer incarnate, made whole
in flesh from God's own
mind. You are ours
and His, everything.