reach your fingers into a saline breeze
and let your hand be brushed by the unseen;
there lives love—the death of possession,
for nowhere is it not.
watch a tire thrust its warm rubber
into the sandpaper of asphalt;
there lives love—unguarded from a trampling,
propelling all momentum.
pour oil into oil and venture to find where
one ends and the other begins;
there lives love—things at home because
they've found they’re always lost.
feel in your life for the years that went too fast,
for the years that went too slow;
there lives love—its weighted hug so ordinary,
the skin of things forgets its touch.