Never Let Go

Life comes at us, hard or easy; it always charges. It throws feathers, pebbles; it throws a river stone across the floorboards we spent years polishing. Life wears its glasses to tell the cup from the jug, to tell both apart from the throat. Life is wearing its gloves to do its work. Life comes at us. Yet no tongue against life, but we get tongues, fingers, and the whole flood from shuffling lips. You, me, the home my heart ambles in; We shall clear the room’s centre and invite the guest to sit. We shall leave the back door on the latch. If life will throw, let it. Let it rattle the window-panes, But let life not give up on this. Let life not give this away. And you, grip the edge of the table. Hold fast. I am reaching for your hand.