by Adam Sifre
st umble s andslips
"It's too much," a place where everyone stops.
Sometimes it's an empty bed in the morning,
the sharp ring of a phone,
the soft steps of the retreating mailman,
or the wail of a child; maybe a siren.
It's the thin ice, the cartoon anvil, the speeding bus.
We all come here, baptized in tears; dark and alone.
That's not life.
The moments, the moments of love.
When you wake to a hand lightly touching.
When the coffee is perfect, the cotton robe, deep and warm.
The kiss, all reassurance and promise.
The moments we harvest, lovingly hoard -
fireflies in a jar.
Each a place,
You take with you.
Even in the dark place where
It's too much.