What is love
you ask while drying dishes.
         is this an act of love

there can be love
in each room of the human heart
where years of
sheets shambolic
each touch

cloudy with the dust of tiny deceits
whisper / peace
whisper / gentleness
whisper into these private demesnes:
             once there was love
             and good intentions
             and a first Christmas tree
             and second-hand grief

this sand at the bottom of the tub
is kindness;
the fleas leaping from the couch, goodness;
screen door that slams, a challenge

even lobbing screams like cannon fodder
part-time and full:
                 lamentation / today
                 rearranged / tomorrow
                 for an ode that is riven heart

love must be what we find in the silence
of a drive home from burying
a friend: gone
too soon the dirt,
the shovels, thousands 

these mourners who know what love is
no question at all.