Poem

How To Move For Love

Pack light – an instrument
for fingers and mind, a well-seasoned
skillet, a few books loved
for their words labored
into the just perfect order,
a battered jacket, wonder,
nothing that can’t be moved
in an afternoon.  Give up
desks, sentiment, all but
a few tools, the gibberish
of your old arguments.
Is it love you love, or motion?
You hate passing from one state
to another, house to house,
room to room.  It’s not,
you think, that you want
so much.  Sick with travel,
what’s enough?  One heart,
one harbor, one home.