poetry's not precious,
i write it all the time
you don't think i'm precious
for you lose me all the time
pity is not love and neither
one is mercy
here, teach me the secret of loving,
letting me know,
battered as my heart is what
it is to let go
at nissan i tear the wound,
tear the wound, pick the scab
and in the season of our
freedom as for another
reason to burn the new candle,
defy anything that looks
like hopeless and open this,
life as it is with all
its quests and questions
and give them back to you