...e'er so gently down

I awaken and it’s night, the return of blue-black's canopy stretched o’er me and light of softness sent from the stars is arriving, coming e’er so gently down. Ignoring the hour, hot water is backing up in a cone awaiting passage through the grind, about to invisibly weave wafts of aroma’s comfort into the air, as water becomes a brew that fills a carafe, as it trickles e’er so gently down.
 
There were times, once, that her neck lay upon my upturned wrist, head nestled in my hand, her angelic baby’s smell there but not enough, the love in my face wondrous and oh so close to hers, as into her crib, I placed her e’er so gently down.

There was the yellow balloon hiding behind the couch, seemingly at hover and forgetting the party of days before, wanting and begging, if it could, for up but coming, imperceptibly, so slowly, e’er so gently down.

I know too well the worst of me, those times I retreat, relinquish control to anger, and only after it’s been dealt find regret braided with remorse because I permitted weakness to sap true character’s will to leave it and grow by walking away after putting it e’er so gently down.
 
At times when 'blest' is forefront of mind it urges me to take this time, my now, to thank the one living between some- and everywhere and I know to give my gratitude, whispered or silent with the nod of affirmation from reverence itself and so few days left, to do so, and I kneel e’er so gently down.