What lies beneath
the layers of dirt
the notes
the clothes
the ideas
we gather around us
is the truth:

No more.
No less.

This used to be white.
This used to mean something.
This once thrilled me so
I chose it
from among all other things
to live for that moment
in my home,
in my head,
in my heart.

So lovely.

But love
is fluid.
It moves through you
and me
and that fresh idea
and that fine article
and that beautiful note
and that smooth rock
you plucked from a beach
and secreted in your pocket
to finally place
on a shelf
somewhere
first, to be admired
finally, to be forgotten
and is on
to the next thing.

You cannot hold love
and holding the things
that carried it to you
becomes so heavy.

Letting it go,
the note that opened your heart
the book that opened your head
the rock that carried that thought
will bring it back.

Under that rock
is the feeling you found
then thought you had lost.

Let go of that rock
and the feeling will come rushing back in
to the glorious
and honorable space
you have given it.

xxx
c