The Weight Of Love

I long to be held down

by the coolness of gravity

by the warmth of an arm.

Where is the lover that

used to hold me fast,

who bound me to this place

with the unconsciousness

of sleep?

Without that tether

I float like a fog bank

through my own life.

Sorrow is a weight, but not warm.

Memory weighs heavily, but is hard.

I can’t explain how it is

that now I feel weightless.