One time someone gave me love and I did not feel it
One time I dug a hole
I caused a wound
I called on sickness and I did not heal it
One time
There was a gift
A love so simple and slight
I couldn’t see it in the dark dark night but I could sure feel it
Slow or fast or not at all
I still feel it
Big or small
I still feel it
There was a hand
The feel of fingertips
against my cheek
My belly
My thigh
A connection both deep and shallow
A desire
Bringing me back to my breath
What’s best
Parading through the days of our lives
Whispered advice
Across church pews
Finger interwoven with finger
Heartbeats keep time here in our quiet room
There is no move
To make
No right action to take
Only breathing and being
Sharing and freeing yourself from the constraints of rules and stories that will take your nose
despite your face
This here is bounded and safe
This is awake
Now I try to feel it
Gut/Heart/Brain/Bones
Antenna up; smooth, washed
Sense of smell heightened; Year of the Dog
A million times someone gave me love and I felt it
I smelt it
Stuck my face in rubbed my back in and rolled around in it
Let that love move my feet along broken sidewalks
Let that love speak my words for me; soft and easy
Let that love stretch my body, work my body
Read my books with me
Take my bicycle for a spin
Let that love smooth out wrinkles then make more wrinkles
Jump on beds
And call all the ex-lovers and say
Ha!
One day I found myself cradled in the strong branches of a tree
Eyes open it still took several seconds to surmise if I was in the desert or the swamp
I kissed her and said goodbye
The Irish way (not at all)
I left the outer layer of my skin on hers
There rough and soft mixed together to make something new both like and unlike me or you
It was a holiday, one I didn’t celebrate
My neighbor jumped into her sister’s car and they headed to church