Three Syllables

The small voice, shrill, a sudden burst,

after the toy was dropped.

"I love you," meant to be rehearsed,

a moment quickly stopped.

Then later, low, across the room,

a sigh I couldn't place.

"I love you," heavy with a gloom,

a shadow on a face.

It isn't one thing, this small phrase,

it shifts with every breath.

A warmth that can amaze,

or something close to death.

The sound can be a coin, bright tossed,

or rust, on metal worn.

A fragile thing, or something lost,

before the day is born.