Cleaning up a room for love
Is not at all dissimilar
To cleaning it for death,
Each fastidious censor
To our dearest audience.
Perception is the clearest
For follies of the past
A simple word in shallows
Sounded at its depth
Perfection, criticism
Every desperate try.
I’ve tossed a thousand volumes
Preparing for them both
Re-shelved my mind
To just the line
Of a letter
That was left.
But love at last
Cleared out the most
And wrote a million more
Babe, when you stood me up again
I went and hugged a tree.
