Love Story

Love Story

Love, what would you have me know? –Robert Holden

Love, what would you have me know? These days
my brain is overflowing, so at least a hundred times a week it spits away the bits that seem irrelevant. This must be why you bypass thought and arrow to the heart. I don’t forget what’s spoken there . It stays, however long neglected.

When I scrub my oaken floor, the caustic fluid strips the upper layers—grime, old wax, and varnish—but the hardwood soul of it remains as if connected with the far-off forest and the very tree it came from. It retains its fodder—minerals of earth and drops of water, blizzards, sunlight, even winds that shaped its early-morning silhouette. Scars fade to invisibility; the nutrients remain.

Love, tell your timeless story. You don’t use a shred of space. The hum of life will never make a person fat or lazy. It’s an energy insisting, “Come this way,” whatever mortal mind might say in opposition. I don’t listen to the whine advising separation. I’m attuned to music that endures. When all is said and done, the harmony’s eternal. It can penetrate, it will transcend the grave.

And so, love, speak away. There’s no place you can’t reach me. If there were, my spirit would not see it. If it did, it would not go there. Love, sing on. What would you have me know?