Cup

The love I have for you wakes me at night. It sends me out at all hours shouting, Darting down the sidewalk in both directions. It never smiles and always expects the worst. It looks for you when you’re already there. The love I have hollows me out with bombs when I sleep, Then packs the broken spaces with flowers and scenes recalled, Of walks to the car wash when you were three, A spit-matted bear, clutched at your tiny hip. I have no choice in loving you, As much as a cat has whenever it bathes Or a bird born knowing how nests are made. So too am I mastered by codes too old and close to see, How you’re in a cup in the hands of life And the worried cup is me.