Essential as it is,
it's as difficult to love
as it is to live comfortably—
however completely
that drawer by the stove
becomes stuffed
full of manuals, user guides,
warranties, and gift receipts,
in all the ways that matter most,
deep down, you know
you're on your own.
But difficult as it is,
its just as essential
to eat the peach
and leave the pit,
to carry off the dead,
to bury the shit, to swing
at all the decent pitches.
It's not just a rush: our sense
that changing the future
authenticates the past;
it's a pulsating truth—
that after anything is swallowed or flushed or cracked or burned to ash,
the world is new;
there's no way of
going back.
