Just As

There should be a poem that moves in and out, just as the air your lungs capture and use, deplete and toss away. A poem like water, pouring off a dark roof in the maelstrom of the night... water moving outward to the creek, the river, the lake, and finally the oceans, where every pain is drown, every hurt washed away. There should be a poem that flows, just as air and water do... just as love does. Love that comes flowing into the heart, a gift; and then one day rolls away, outward, onward, gone. A poem of no words, only movements. Yes, there should be a poem, but, when the air is exhausted, and the waters gather elsewhere, the words escape me, just as the love has. - But, the longing, to love and be loved, remains, just as air, not moving, and water, not flowing.