love 1/30/17

“it is easy to imagine love as a flying Thing, with wings of silk and clawed feet that climb the skyscrapers when it is dark enough for white feathers to fade to black, when it is quiet enough for noise to settle below us so that its call is not heard. it is easy to imagine Love as a lonely thing, whose words drip as honey from its mouth but settle into ravines and oceans and sink below the grass’s roots rather than glaze a lover’s lips — it is easy to imagine Love as a thing that exists without time or nature but then again that is so hard, it is impossible.”
“love is a bird as you say, whether it is a bird without time or nature I could not tell you. It is a bird with wings of silk and clawed feet and honey words, but it is those things only as a walnut shell is a walnut. if it were to consume us we would burn from inside out, and our eyes would melt at the sight of it and it would infect every one of us until it was alone, really alone, until the oceans were deadened and trees black and blue because who is to say that nature lives when we are gone? and so Love exists not with us but around us, and molds into stone and lips and eyes and hugs and birds so that we are filled with a sense of warmth as when a storm racks against a screen door and blows inside a soft mist.”
imagine Love as a flying thing,
wings of silk heavened in all divine with clawed feet
that climb; when white feathers fade and
quiet beneath us swallows skyscrapers.
imagine Love as a flying thing,
words drip honeyed from its mouth but settle deep
in ravines and oceans; sink to root and stone
rather than glaze another’s lips.
imagine Love not at all, cuz
existence is a mold to a rock, tree, man; filled with
a warmth as when storm racks a screen door and

blows in a soft, keening mist.

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