Here it is.

when she laughs I whisper a prayer
from the bottom of my lungs and gut
a drifting intangent thing, like the ghost of
a halo, the crust of the sun in a million miles of blackness
fortunately she doesn't hear it,
its a secret in truth, and in truth its found.
that each day I see the coronal glimpse,
the tempered heat and light shine from her eye
as her graceful chin rises and her hair falls back
my thoughts a reflection, a bow to her implacable shine.