Measuring Love

I’ve started
to measure love
slowly
by the standards of a universe
defined by those who know
what they are doing
when they open themselves
from a place so deep inside happiness
and find evidence of nothing
but love.

I breathe
and find love
with each intake
and in the letting go
of everything I’ve ever loved.
My throat catches,
panics like an ocean swimmer
grabbed by the undertow.
I thrash about
attracting attention
on the beach
where no one has come to watch
the sunrise.
I’m lost in this watery place
where the salt can only remind me
of everything I’ve lost.

Someone I love more than this solitary life
once asked me to measure my mass
against a ton of feathers that seemed to be taking me
toward flight and the sky
as I grew these awkward wings
from the seed of my heart
stretching toward the heat of the sun.
I’ve been burned before.
I remember the smell of flesh
and the that longing for release.
I could not measure joy even as Heaven
opened her window to let me climb up
weeping and gasping for some signal
that might remind me of how to return
to the path where I’ve measured my journey
by placing one small foot
in front of the other.

I’ve begun to count on my abused fingers again.
I will scratch my marks on the wall of despair
only after I’ve lost my way
and cannot remember
the names of the stars
where we will all journey someday.
I wish you were here to teach me
the language that measures
the distance between these two souls.