Between

On the cusp of God's love
you might think there is voodoo
or some maniac incubating in my throbbing chest,

but this love is reasoned and contains enough mindful joy
that we will honor all of this abundance
by holding it gently
like one holds the tiny fingers of an infant,
amazed at the miracle of the pale sliver
of each nail and the pink beauty
plucked from heaven's sentinel.

Gratitude lives in this space
between the insistent inhale
our eventual reluctant death.