You write it on
doorposts
and bridges
and walls
and inevitable falls
and failings.

You paint it in
sunrise
and sunset
and across star-stung skies
and in the tattoo
of shadows.

You stitch it into
hearts, tiny etched
mendings,
sacred scars.

It is
radical
and ridiculous
and readily available
and we forget
and we cheapen it
and we take it
but forget
to give it.

It is
free
and we’re found
gently loosed and unbound;
but we forsake it,
and forget
to live it.
…..