A PORTRAIT OF MY HUSBAND

Once again I ponder the mystery of your sorrows.
I hear the reassurance of your sturdy voice;
I see your book, pored over with searching concentration
being translated by your fingers, on the keyboard,
for expression in words about the Book of books;
its Words, entering all that is your essence,
with delight, kindled in wonder at its vastness:
small Words, on fragile paper, simple, but majestic;
you, grasping in varying amounts, their cosmic Reality.