Attachment

I have begun
to look into distances
as I approach the center
of a life colorfully decorated
with the united reminders
of decay.

It is natural—
a selected intelligence
that awakens just in time
to give away
all I know
in reverse order
of the gathering.

The stories of my brothers
and my invisible sisters
are alive in me
like fire and wicked wind
the suffering is caught in my breath
and fall like the inevitable avalanche
in my bones—
the sound deafening
within the silences.

And yet I am called to listen
to the dead and the forgotten.
I see their faces
and feel their hands upon my soul
when I know not what to do.
The comfort of the saints
and sages settles around
the same flame for light
in the unbearable darkness—
in the cold we will know
as the longest winter.

If kindness is my only possession
before spring arrives in the color
of tulips and daffodils,
let me have the wisdom
and the grace
to give it all away.

On that day
wash my face clean
and remember
that it is exactly
as I have told you
and the gift that I have plucked
from between my ribs
so that I might place hope
in the palm
of your hungry hand
is the only meal
you will ever desire
again.