Spring Wind

The breezes blew strong this morning
and reminded my body of the swaying
place of discovery I miss as I place my hand
in your hand, near the pounding of your heart,
and I drop my defenses and forgive
myself for loving someone
I can’t love.

Why ask the question anymore--
to ask why love is ever wrong.
There is no answer to this question
when it is put to you and to me.
We are not at liberty to question
the chains wrapped around our hearts—
what gold and silver rings bind us.

The truth is no one has figured out
what blade will cut the slender red thread
that binds and tugs at the ribs
surrounding the place where blood
and life force pumps a river of compassion
toward the river of contentment
between you and me.

My curls battle this spring wind
crawling across my face
like vines climbing the walls
of an old New England house
empty of human understanding,
left alone to the ghosts,
lonely and breathing nothing
in the pale first light of another solitary day.