How to Love
After stepping into the world again,
there is that question of how to love,
how to bundle yourself against the frosted morning—
the crunch of icy grass underfoot, the scrape
of cold wipers along the windshield—
and convert time into distance.
What song to sing down an empty road
as you begin your morning commute?
And is there enough in you to see, really see,
the three wild turkeys crossing the street
with their featherless heads and stilt-like legs
in search of a morning meal? Nothing to do
but hunker down, wait for them to safely cross.
As they amble away, you wonder if they want
to be startled back into this world. Maybe you do, too,
waiting for all this to give way to love itself,
to look into the eyes of another and feel something—
the pleasure of a new lover in the unbroken night,
your wings folded around him, on the other side
of this ragged January, as if a long sleep has ended.
|Mar 28, 2014||Past Inclemency & Present Warmth||Eryn Green|
|Mar 27, 2014||Multiple Man: Guest-starring me & you||Gary Jackson|
|Mar 26, 2014||If the ocean had a mouth||Marie-Elizabeth Mali|
|Mar 25, 2014||Company||Karen Leona Anderson|
|Mar 24, 2014||If You Must Hide Yourself From Love||Christopher Salerno|
|Mar 23, 2014||On Viewing the Skull and Bones of a Wolf||Alexander Posey|
|Mar 22, 2014||A Parisian Roof Garden in 1918||Natalie Clifford Barney|
|Mar 21, 2014||The Hammers||Jericho Brown|
|Mar 20, 2014||Forth Into View, Random Warriors||Pattiann Rogers|
|Mar 19, 2014||Sky Burial||Ron Koertge|