Drops.

I had a microscope,
A view into other tiny worlds.
I looked at leaves and dirt and drops of water and honey and soap
To find they were not the whole things I had thought, but made of many interlacing parts.
And I wondered what other invisible facets the world held for me to discover.
You poked your finger, one day
So that I could examine a drop of your blood.
I realized that day the weight of the sacrifices you had made for me
And would always make for me.
I remember looking,
Over and over again
Long after it had dried on the slide
At that dark crust of your life.
Looking to see its magic again.
You had given me many gifts,
But no present before had been so very yours.
I wonder if you know how much magic I still find in blood,
However macabre that may sound-
I deal in blood and sweat and pain these days.
I deal in the magic that I saw on the glass that day.
The soul-water spilled on the floor and splashed on the curtains.
Every drop, your drop.