Sometimes we write love in small letters –
Spreading the butter on his toast or
Wiping down the kitchen counter dabbed with
Peanut butter and jelly…
Love is often dangling on the clothesline
And snatching a peek at a sleeping face;
It is the giving up and giving in
To another’s want with joy…
Blowing, kissing and holding tight is
Love’s voice upon a little sore finger, a wrinkled
Cheek, a weary shoulder that saunters at
Days end hopelessly…
Minutes are just as vital in love’s scaling
Upward climb to perfection, the afternoons
Picking strawberries and the morning
Prayer that’s an alloy…
Write love, in capital or small, it doesn’t matter—
Pen it with every touch; add it to tuna casseroles
And let it water down every heartache at
Your midnight soliloquies
But compose it…
Jot it down
and engrave it without restraint!
Dirty your hands in it
and clean a soul with
It …
Like the only work you’ve employed!
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