Pull the world tight against your bones.
Wear it like a second skin, and watch it move when you move, love when you love.
Trip over the smiles of others. Stop trying to measure the space between yourself and what you feel sometimes, but not always, for me, and her, and him, and them.
Can you slide a credit card between bird and sky, between anemone and high tide? We are all elements in debit to each other. We could start learning to live with it.
A man on the bus in a gray flannel suit swore at his wife on his cell phone because she’d called him twenty times that day. At the end, shoulders crimped, he said softly, “See you soon.”
All pain is joy held at arm’s length. Pressing against your open palms, the love gets through anyway.
© Elaine Stirling, 2012