Love is a delicate practice,
an intricate balance
sought
forever and ever,
a feather in the palm
on a treacherous, windy day,
a wildfire hardly born.
It has been said: “It is incumbent
upon you to do good between the two evils.”
On the one hand, flame,
the resilient candle blown
out, murdered, lost;
and on the other, vengeance
as a flood, as too much nourishment,
as yet, as in both cases,
any excess shall kill,
but dearth as I know it is heavy,
and my aloofness is concerning.
Thus, I seek to be a cloud
who faces the Sun;
to represent the fireplace.
I am pillar’d by destruction
and the desolate beginning,
ruin
like a cancer, and starvation.
I seek to Spring out of the Pass
unscathed, and delicate
is this process, this progression,
this pursuit of this and that,
of no death and all of It,
of ignorance and the impertinent resentment,
of Love borne of hatred and of fear.
09/20/2016
East Vancouver