To Agape
We got married on a roof, you and I.
You were cold, so you borrowed my jacket
and my divinity. You wore it well,
like a wedding dress, and you
understood me. No need to explain the cost.
You knew I'd been married before.
You said no, the time before,
but you took another chance, and I
took your hand. How much does love cost?
Your compassion covered me like a jacket,
and you stood up to a god. I kissed you,
to save my life, and you made me well.
They sang of us, and all was well.
I became a father, like before,
and the cruel, kind hand of fate made you
a mother and a wife. Always I
could see the darkness like a jacket
descending, and the mounting cost.
They showed you the first cost,
and you gave up one life, gave it well,
throwing fate, that straitjacket,
away, and returning to the time before.
That was when you finally knew that I
would have died without you.
I can still hear you, still see you,
the moment that I knew the cost.
You became part of me; I
never meant you to die so well.
I remembered that day, before,
and I wanted to give you my jacket.
Divinity cannot be unbuttoned, and your jacket
is made of earth. I gave one gift to you
I have given no others before.
I could not let them see the cost,
but you saw it all, you saw it well.
We understood the universe, you and I.
Agape, there is no before; buy a new jacket.
Ask again, "Who am I?" as if I never loved you.
I bear the cost; you forget too well.