I slept in the forest last night,
And woke to the alarm of heart-break.
Ready-made, before my feet hit the ground.
A little earlier in the day than usual,
But I let the door swing open as I burst,
And the juice ran down my fingers
And I drank it for breakfast:
Exotic flavours from the unlit side of the world –
Bitter, pungent, dark purple and mahogany.
I went for a walk with it,
And let it know my real name,
And the colour of its blush became a totem for my trail.
I try to practice at least one heart-break a day,
Before lunch if possible – just to get the hard work out of the way.
It gives me my job.
And every time we stitch it together again,
There are gaps and flaws that make the whole thing bigger,
Until it holds everything – yet
Clumsy and spilling through the seams,
Like a child’s hand carrying a score of summer berries across a field –
Dripping and staining,
The ones that fall turn magically from fruit to seed,
And cover the place wildly, without distinction.
I could throw it away, in every second, as much as I can,
And it would never run out, backfiring times a thousand.
So we learn to celebrate the ending of love,
The perforations in our plans and holey hands-
Because it only ever changes into new adorations,
There is no such thing as waste or failure of love,
Unless we refuse to fall in the first place.
The net is has us already caught.
We were never in any danger.
there is no need for shields or strategies, or wings.
I will throw my love into the fire
And every time
It is the fire itself that gets burned.
