I populate my poems too often with loss. In return, they help fill the spaces inside that get emptier and emptier as time passes. When I found you in my mail today-winking, I scoured the pockets of my heart and found them filled with love-given and received. And so to that moment, to us, I tried to write a poem. I tried to put pen to paper and found myself too full to write-like I had eaten the best meal, or had the world's best hug, or just heard the song I had always been looking for. In this place where is the space for poetry?
Language has no business getting close to what is already full and frothing to the brim.