Love is
like that
I suppose 
accommodating enough 
to absorb 
watery things 
that soil 
soak and 
then disappear 
only to 
dry yet 
again to 
sop yet 
again up 
this messiness 
that we
call love 

It’s strange this 
having had and
now not the 
had being things 
things are necessary 
these things especially 
define what is 
and what isn’t 
can one have 
then a thing 
that is not 
the thing it’s 
supposed to be 
what does one 
do when expectation 
only ever disappears 
what does a
bowl become when 
it has nothing 
to fill it 
oh it welcomes 
anything at all 
to cradle inside 
giving it definition 

I feel like 
a book between 
two different yet
similar bookends one
fixed capable of 
bearing my weight 
and the other 
prone to slipping 
the strong one 
is cold the 
other warmly fuzzy
back and forth 
I go like 
a yo-yo or 
the pendulum of
a grandfather clock 
just keeping time 
until at last 
hands or laps 
or even lips 
open my pages 
beginning to read 

I don’t 
even know 
anymore everything 
I did
I don’t 
and I 
wonder now 
if I 
ever did 
it’s like 
this life
keeps tapping 
me on
shoulder and 
when turning 
to see
it runs
behind again 
and me
a toy
top spinning 
one day
I suppose 
I’ll catch 
it and 
stop this 
dizzying dance
and see
what all 
this has 
been about 

Finally the thaw
after a long
harsh isolating winter
one of fury
and bitter winds
which howled and 
danced screaming spells
and whistling incantations 
meant to conjure 
up lost demons 
now the thaw
some pitter patter 
of long awaited 
life dripping from 
long ago fallen 
snow gathered heaved
and heaped that
begins to drip
into the cistern 
turning this darkness 
into its own 
kind of light