Economies of Scale
It is hard and not hard to see
this conquest for
what we think we must have
these captives, ghosts
keeping us captive
in our keeping of them
I love this, we say
and this, and that
even though the word, love,
turns pale and thin
when confused with
what we grasp
To make the adored
a possession
some talisman locked in our fist
creates shadows, little outposts
of me, the other shrinking
day by day
I saw the tattoo on her arm
a name, some lover from
then or even now
and wondered if he
was thrilled to have his tag
on the outside of her skin
The dish breaks, and we moan
remembering when we first
beheld its graceful line
how fortunate its falling
our flinch at the sound
teaching what love is
and surely what it is not
vitalwholeness 