Contents
We pack each little box
Until it’s full of memories.
Unpack when we arrive each day.
Like spring, when daffodils are new.
We put ourselves inside each word,
Stuffing the tattered, and ragged edges
Of each memory with a lubricant of feeling.
Inside, each emotion pressing outward to be free,
Not fitting into such tiny boxes.
Reading the poets and trying to be like them.
Communicating in glorious ways;
Bending ears, Bringing tears,
Giving the gift of giving-in.
Suturing the fractured,
Making every moment whole,
An ecstasy of living.
Finding the glory in being.
A duty of selflessness,
The humility of altruism.
Impulses shared to enlighten,
Fan multitudes like prospered wheat,
Making bright the common direction
Of swaying flames.
A breeze of words that carries all baggage
Until we wake.
Then, In the morning, we return.
Unpack each captured vastness of feeling,
Let it breathe until an end arrives.
Then pack again and make them fit
Into these small containers we call words.
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