Pole Move

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Love is something that happens
to someone else.
Until it happens.
In which case we’re all involved.
A case in which we carry
our wounds
breaks the moment we let
love inside;
breathe.

Let love breathe, I say.
Even if it founders
(no return address)
it shows us how to try anyway
so our base feelings ossify
and only their scars remain.

Briefly, papers fall out of the case
creased, scattering in the wind.

You can chase them.

But if you catch one, look at it closely:

Words, bloodied and paled
on pages too barren.

Signs, showing you how
to forget.