And all these days
I was content to wander,
To wonder through the bus windows
About the galaxies of rain
To squander
The potential of the future
On the resignations of the past
I have traveled slow years
Through fast miles
And I miss the sunshine
Warming my skin
Imagining it was Your love
Because it’s easier to imagine
Than to take hold, to live in,
To consume,
To assume the responsibility;
Love bears responsibility.
I can’t ride the old bus ticket forever.
Some part of my soul passes
Every open station
Intransigent in my seat
Because eventually I bring every love
Back to the scene of the storm,
Back to the soaked debris,
And strewn heirlooms
Back to the caved roof
And shattered glass windows.
I used to think it reduced to one:
I couldn’t be loved
But how well I’ve been loved
All the while
By the best of us.
The truth: try as I might,
I cannot love.
All my love is tied to destruction-
It is tossed amongst the strewn debris.
How may I recover what is lost?
How can I lift my love
From the muddy bed of grief?
If all these years haven’t done it,
What other salve remains?
Is there a balm
For the phantom limb?
Continuing forward is no progress.
Will it always ache?
Who can bear the legs
Unable to support their own weight?
viewingcamelot 
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