I am so often aware that I know my own weaknesses in the strengths of others. All those poets and artists, yes, and the warm courage of friends. We are so loved, it is all so brief and wonderful. This little poem could be called ‘How I love you’
Let’s take a muscle from my chest
stroke each twitching fibre smooth, stretch
the tight bundles out of our reach
and make baby steps away from each other, spin
a whole life out of separations, the thinning
weight of it tugging in my breast.
Every day my own weakness
is held in the strength of others __
today: Mary Ruefle
another kind of happiness 