A Woman’s Love

 

It has only come with age;

Something only known slowly,

Through a sense other than

My eyes or ears;

A thing known over time,

Perhaps because I have been

In some ways blind

To the delicate beauty of it.

And even now as it

Is here before me

I look at it wonderingly,

Never having known myself

As a musician,

Or what was

Here within my grasp

As a musical instrument.

Only now as my hand

Moves softly knowing

The way of it

And it’s delicate responses,

Am I beginning to sense

The music it holds.

So, still uncertain,

I gently explore

With my lips, fingers

And heart,

How it moves and responds

To my moods and action.

Almost with hunger

It opens to me

As I call it into life.

And I never knew

Such a vibrancy of feeling

Was there waiting

To flow between my searching

Touches and breath.

I was always too clumsy

In my a approach,

Too impatient through

My own needs,

Or frightened because of

What it might ask of me;

Or even call out of me.

That is why only age

Leads me to dare

The music

Of a woman’s love.