It Was Love

​Every morning
he forgot her name, who she is.
 
Every morning
he opened his eyes, and
he looked at her, and
for just a couple of seconds
(before he once again remembered)
he wondered
 
if she is
(if she has always been)
God. 

___
© Alex Antonopoulos
This poem has been featured in the WAITING project. 
Image from: http://heatherhorton.com/category/surfacing-new-paintings-by-heather-horton-november-2012/ (Heather Horton)