Curl

You don’t know
the curl of my sleep -
of my unrelenting vigilance -

For my children and the truth,

For the scent where your hair
nests behind your ear,
For every moment your
fingers find mine,

And for the way you look
at my heart, you find the chambers;
A seashell sculpted
by fine Bermuda sands;

The coral shaded velvet sides sheltering
gossamer chambers, where even now,
I am waiting.