2002-08-01-11:13 a.m.

There is nothing still or small

about this one

who wedges his foot in the door

and works his way in.

He slips bitterness from

under my plate

and replaces it

with tenderness.

He finds my stash of resentment

and leaves only love.

There is nothing still or small

about him.

He is swift and stealthy,

awaiting my nod

before stealing me blind.

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