If there are moments when doubt spreads wide inside
and ploughs deep furrows across her brow,
take the hand of your lover and brush her fingers
through your hair and yours through hers
and watch summer colours reclaim her face,
chase away the pale of days once cold.
And if there is one who would cast you out
upon some manufactured calumny,
take the hand of your hunter and brush his fingers
across your chest and yours across his
and see the pain flow out of his eyes
on his awakening to the truth.
And if there are many whom you might fight,
who are told to fight you by another’s command,
take the hand of the first of them and show him
you have no weapon you may slay him with;
and say to the next that he who would have us fight
is not here and will never know us.
And if you become fearful with age or illness
and the light in your eyes starts to glaze,
take the hands of the young and celebrate their advent,
offering to add your wisdom to their fire;
for your tasks are the same and they will be
glad of your guidance when cold winds blow.
And if you need to leave this place, this sparkling jewel,
that drags you up then lets you ebb down, away,
take the hand of your lover and kiss each finger
to promise the end is yet to come; that you’ll
walk together the one-way track until all
talk of us is done and then forgotten.