whatever is now, whatever

is still to introduce

itself to me

as i soften, grow fuller

in the years to come

from all the life that has found me, and

that wrote itself on my skin

this greying, this growing

wiser i hope, and

perhaps there are things

formed, things

sharp and uncertain,

not altogether unfamiliar,

a heart does grow tired of stretching

learning to let go of control,

the safety of knowing how things will look

one day

when we are old,

yet

you are there, somehow

you

found

me, and

were you searching?

wandering into my life

you are love

on soft footsteps

as if you have always been there.

familiar.

so wanted.

the earth beneath me.

i hope that you never grow tired of this, of

holding us in your hands.

— whatever is still to come (and) things that we hold in our hands

© Liezel Graham 2020.

Image by Nathan Dumlao.

Unsplash.