hold me close and let me go
Confession: the room sometimes too cold, sometimes a furnace.
One day woozy with the spell of love and another, itchy
with escape. You wish you had a crystal ball, knew when the kiss
would tumble off the cliff and into the churning river that carried it away.
You wish you could anticipate each change, large or incremental,
that shifted your heart to the right or left of its blushing bull’s-eye.
All you know is, the see-saw tips from transient to transcendental,
the fulcrum leaning from the breeze. You don’t know how or why,
but then again, nature’s full of paradox, stormy followed by serene.
The winter grass, frozen shut, still clinging to a trace of green.