Poem: Morphing

This is the difficulty with love:
its ability to escape permanence,
the morphing from shape to shape,
once a bird now a balloon and later on
a kite released during a dead day.

This is what awareness brings: knowing
that we will be left with clothes scattered
on the floor, debris of another night,
candlewax melting maps across the wood
pockmarked with scalpel scars.

I am reminded of another man,
another field full of grass, taller
than us, another bed. How can love
move from one vessel to another,
like liquid, like leaves blown across the street?