30 poems in 30 days: Day 21

First swing at a sestina.

The Gambling, the Godliness, And The Military Nature of Loving.

Early on, it can be hard to say who won.
That’s the thing, about drawing hearts
In the margins of documents that are supposed to speak grace,
Quiet contemplation, smooth twirling in general.
There is a way to count the best things, one, two
And then there are those things that count against you.

There, also, here, are so many things I’ve forgiven you
The soft sound of your voice as it fades, One.
The unwitting comfort of a kindly word, Two.
There are other complications at the heart
Of the matter, complications in general
Suck any interpersonal relationship of it’s grace.

That is the thing about grace
I can hold it soft, the feather on a pillow next to you
But it can be so swiftly shouted away, a general’s
Bellow, and we’re left to figure out who won
When the clemency has been pumped from our hearts.
Of course, this makes loving more difficult, too.

Too, there is also the gambling, when we place ourselves in twos.
And that is the worst thing about grace
It pays no mind to a spade, a diamond, a heart,
To where my hand starts, which is me and the other is you.
It’s hard to say which one
Of us will keep up our fortunes, in general.

Hard to say, in general,
As a rule, given to two
People who don’t like rules, people who won
The ability to keep kisses by the grace
Of God, by the grace of you,
And your ability to place such emphasis on the heart.

The emphasis on the heart
Is where it really belongs, the general
Ascension of the blessing you
Keep, closely, quietly, oh so carefully between the two
Of you, of us, keepers of calamity and grace.
The keepers of the quiet longing, of counting. One.

Tick you blessings off with a butter knife, Two.
Baby, will you stockpile my grace and your grace,
Together in that junk drawer? So in the end, in general, we can’t tell who’s won?