Drags of old snow
cover gray-brown winter yards
as the sky lights pink under the dark clouds.
My beloveds lie sleeping
in the next room,
just as beloveds
lie sleeping in every rowhouse on my block,
quiet under wisps of smoke
and the long, icy pall of winter.
Just the day to break out love,
and not that oblivious in-love of partners--
never what the day was for--
but the love that keeps us whole,
bound to one another.
That love that knows healing
can come from the gesture
of compassion, the wordless glance,
the long listening,
and that in each of us
is a place that needs it.
This love is fierce for seeing the other;
for wanting what is fair and human,
for believing that life’s secret
is living from the abundance of saying
we have enough. This love
knows that the ground under us
is our home and the only thing that will keep
us alive; breathe within
its limits. Hold this day
as though it were precious.
Do one thing you love.