An equation:
“x” is a gift.
(Substitute, for x, a
heartbeat, a hug at the doorway,
a measure of silence after a song.)

Now the value of is y,
that is, the love of the giver.

And if by we mean
a chill wind, or a sudden steady rain
which dampens my dutiful prayers,
a moment repeated
out of distracted disinterest,
a sentence we can find no sense in,
a cup of coffee, sweeter than honey but lacking all joy—

Or if we mean (and surely this will break the thing)
that frantic lacking which howls at the heart of us,
that indiscriminate fierce appetite
we have no name for, but which grabs
at this, and three of that!, and which grasps,
seizes hold, just for the sake of holding!
just to be full for a pitiful moment,
then to droop, defeated, back to the dust
and the ooze of us
in that hungry hollow
which Nothing can ever fill—

If by we mean all that?
(What then?)

—But is a constant, little one.
And x is anything, any thing
at all.

(—Even the hollow in me?)

Even the wound, the sin.

A paradox: every second is fleeting.

(But dad, where do they go?)

No-where. Every second is sealed,
like a time capsule,
with the seal of eternity:
every “yes” a yes forever,
and every “no”.

2 hours can be a retreat—even 2 minutes.
In a pinch, 2 seconds will do.
Let be one second, or less than a second:
a moment, a breath.

Now the value of is y,
that is, the love of the giver.
Andis anything, any thing
at all. Thus

x is every thing, and y infinity,
and this second—and every second—
sealed with eternity
ascends to God.

A conclusion: let x be love.
Let y be love.
Let me be love.

Be Love in me.

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