Love Is A Feeling

I wrote this poem the same night I declared my sabbatical - I really could not go without writing in some way or another. What a pitiful fool I can be sometimes, with my artistic pretensions. Still, I had been batting some of these images around for a few days, and they came together in an interesting way, or at least it was interesting for me.

Love is the feeling

round of a darkened room,

heart squelched into every crevice

by a hand that cannot know

why or what it seeks,

only that it does,

and when at last that thing (should

it feel like this?) is found

the hand must decide

which object to clasp:

either a firm grip

on its own beating heart,

or to let go, give it up,

and hold what’s been given.