July 28, 2007 § Leave a comment
Was it for nothing in particular
or for the swollen flood of fragments
I can no longer count as memories
that love comes more easily,
and love for more things
with fewer apologies,
a bit clumsily,
as if all this light is new.
These breezes have combed out the knots.
My heart, less tightly wound,
is warmer, fatter, noisier,
like the sun.