Love is a cataclysm ; a volcanic fervor about to spout — these hands I have always walked towards — now one hand simply holding the other ; I curl my body around my son’s body : feel this intimacy and let this be enough :: I run my fingers through his hair, I feel this intimacy and I let this be enough / I let everything in my life be enough / the gaze of the grass back at me the sparkle of the sky on a July day // the unending rain which holds a song I can never tap out / the hum and rotor of my car / the magic and mystery of my own house ; the every amazing gift of every day ;; I slave my brain towards gratitude ; towards endlessly refocusing my heartbroken thoughts onto endless gratitude for what I do have // right in front of me, all around me, within me, for what I can make ; for what I can create ; for what I can give ;; I pray that I can finally get out of my own way and give my energy to those less fortunate than I // I pray that I can create something meaningful, that is meaningful to others, that gives some part of the light that has blessed me back // I can do nothing but this ; I cannot let my mind become a whirlwind ;; I cannot even walk down the path because it is too heartbreaking and too tragic ;; I am desperate to heave my brain towards focus ; towards creation ; towards fixing my writing ; towards being a better self ; towards mothering more presently ; I will not think the thoughts that want to think themselves ; I will not let them in ; I will breathe in this green day — this magnificent day, which is still full of lightning bugs, and holds romance in and of itself — for me and my own life / for it is still romantic for me alone to see the lightning bugs / and for me alone to hold my hands towards the sky – towards the stars and wonder what they are — it is still romantic for me to find romance in the rain hitting the pavement, and the street lights shining off of it like a whisper, always something glowing, always something new to discover, to write, to think, to give, there is always some part of myself to reach towards — more wholeness, there is always another sunset at the end of every day, there is always more twilight bringing colors to the dappled sky I could never create in my wildest imagination ;; there is always a new combination of words to write ; there are always new ways to find to soothe myself, to soothe others, there is love in every floorboard of my house, there is love in every tree that reaches down towards us, there is love in the sliding headlights of the cars that pass me on the highway, there is love in the dotted white line angling down the road, there is love in the summer night, the way the wind caresses my cheek, the way the couch holds me just tenderly enough // I have so much love to give and I only want to give it to you, but I will give it to my paints and I will give it to my words and I will give it to the tile above the sink and I will give it to the dirt in my garden and I will give it to my son’s clapping hands and I will give it to the wind whipping by and I will find it in the spare shoe looking for its other and I will find it where the curb meets the corner; in the brazen display of beauty that casts itself everyday towards me, in the drip of water on a leaf, in the face of a flower endlessly shining upwards towards the sky, and in a puddle now of rain collecting :: no drop ever alone