It’s not painfulto give love awayuntil the recipientdecides to take pityDemeaning it,
stripping it fromthe healing forceit sincerely carriesUnder guilt’s somber veilstern and humorlessit may be told to shriveland exhale its vigorBut what it givesis theirs to keep,
no palms facing up,no signatureson dotted lines.
Though charm incites frighturging the soul to leapfollowing swirling orbsand swinging hipsthat erase all worrySome spellsspawn of pure soilflutter upward and burn outonly to clear
the musty airthat resided there beforeAnd while each renditioncan be unique in its meaning,no condolence is neededif no place is temporarily foundto shelter its incessant flame