There are moments
When even we poets
Have trouble with words
For the offering of one’s heart
Is never easy
You handled mine
With the tenderest of care
Like a delicate blown glass dove
Placed in your palm

I am grateful
For your gentleness
And your perception
That feelings are never black and white
But a manifest in shades of grey
Unfolding their true hues
Only with time

Above all
You are my friend
And the rest
What may or may not be
Time will make clear
What’s left to us
Is to enjoy the process
Of that unfolding