| for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also |
[20 Aug 2009|11:36am] |
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happy birthday, darren. thank you for everything you do for me, and for us, and for the cats. thank you for working at a job you hate so we can pay the bills, and bringing me ginger ale when i'm sick, and remembering (sometimes) that WoW is not your girlfriend. thank you for buying me flowers for no reason and being a good cat-daddy. thank you for making me laugh all the time. thank you for impromptu dance parties in the living room, and cooking together, and our mutual love of neil patrick harris. thank you for being gross with me. thank you for your ability to understand my opinions even if we disagree. thank you for late night conversations and multiple marriage proposals and hugs that require me to stand on tiptoes. thank you for loving me and letting me love you in return.
In the month of May when all leaves open,
I see when I walk how well all things
lean on each other, how the bees work,
the fish make their living the first day.
Monarchs fly high; then I understand
I love you with what in me is unfinished.
I love you with what in me is still
changing, what has no head or arms
or legs, what has not found its body.
And why shouldn’t the miraculous,
caught on this earth, visit
the old man alone in his hut?
And why shouldn’t Gabriel, who loves honey,
be fed with our own radishes and walnuts?
And lovers, tough ones, how many there are
whose holy bodies are not yet born.
Along the roads, I see so many places
I would like us to spend the night.
(Robert Bly, In the Month of May)
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