WHOLE PELICAN
WP—8
03–27–26
03–27–26
Handmade Gifts
by Chris Andrew
Philadelphia, Pennsylvannia
spells contours of effort
from breath to breath and back again.
Loving is no faith
but it is believing,
just as to live is to grieve
and being is to toiling.
Shells, against tension, find points of trying,
experimenting,
fleeing the responsibility of all seven seas
and running from monsters (believing).
That is the effect of (mystery of) love:
mourning even the temporary absence,
ships at stonecast.
Every sailor’s valentine, made with the object in mind,
saving memories with every abducting stretch,
within hands that reach like gold in sunsets.
The effort in love, fair in peace and halved,
makes toiling no unbecoming thing—
and in its readiness
waits shoreside,
dreaming of true impossibilities.
After all, loving is believing, stretching—
and it is even enjoying the effortless waste
of never (always) needing to try—
for everything (in love)
falls in line
and is all right.
© Chris Andrew