Friday, August 11, 2017

ON AND ON AND ON

Passion comes on loud
and sloppy and sudden, is something
that just happens—

like a six-
year-old kid's birthday party—
or the mumps.

But, at its quietest, love
comes across
much more like

fidelity—
not at all
grandstanding,

simple and slender
as a promise
when it's whispered,

something you
don't touch, but catch sidelong
glimpses of,

too steadfast
and unremarkable
to be a miracle;

like July fireflies
in the much more considerable
moments between flashes: no glitter—

or dusty dented attic boxes
a little too full of
Christmas ornaments to bother opening: no glamour.

It sounds like beautiful antique wind chimes
hung up in the distant
window of a closed shop,

smells like exotic garden flowers blooming—
at two o'clock in the morning,
when everyone's in bed and sleeping.

1 comment:

HOW DO YOU FEEL?