How to Pack

(from Within My Illusions)

When there is no room left for love,
When you have stuffed your bags so full
That the zipper moans as you close it
And the seams threaten to burst,

When the weight of obligation
Presses against your chest
And the steady beat of shoulds
And have-tos pulses in your head,

Drop all of those things you believe
To be essential and real.

Let them all go and feel
The breath in your lungs,
The breeze on your face,
This gentle embrace.

When there is no room for love, imagine
That love can squeeze through
The narrowest of cracks,

Lay roots in
A mountain of granite,

Spread across a field
Of doubt and insecurity,

Leaving a trail of
Shimmer-glazed popcorn
That will lead you back
To who you are.

When there is no room left for love, remember
That love occupies no space,
Requires no time,
Inhabits no place.