Squeezing Sand

Where does love go when it slips from bones

through the open pores of your skin and into

air charged with electric trails of the past?

You cannot hold back the force of it,

the irresistible withdrawal of

the energy that was your other self.

It's like filling your hands with warm sand

and trying to keep the grains from slipping away

in the salty breeze—or attempting to peel

the iridescence off the skin of

bubbles blown from plastic hoops.

In our greening days we were everywhere.

We occurred between all other thoughts,

and in the quiet humming which remains

when words and thoughts have passed.