Loving you in sunshine is no art;
you have taught me what I know of joy.
But you should know I love you even when . . .
I love you even when I don’t know how to tell you,
when all I say is too flat, too late, too little --
when my wise heart knows more than my lame tongue.
I love you even when I feel unworthy of your love,
when I see my faults so clearly, and find I miss so much,
and learn how you are hurt by some of what I miss.
I love you even when I feel unready
to be all that you need me to be,
to give all it takes to love perfectly.
I love you even when I just begin to know
what it means to love and be loved,
with you so far ahead of me in such knowing.
I love you even when it hurts to love you,
when your voice accuses and your words wound;
I can’t stop loving you and looking for our misplaced grace.
I love you even when I see time’s toll
and sense we are both less and more than once we were;
I love the once and future you.
I love you even when griefs gather
like last season’s leaves before the door,
and sorrows move in to share our home.
I love you even when I cannot measure
the eternity before us and the joy
that may be ours to find, and keep.
I love you ever when and now;
loving you is so much of what I am;
I love you even when you think I don’t.