171/365: It's Hard to Love
It is hard to love.
Of this I was told once:
it's only liking if the loving's easy,
and I assumed that person
was bitter and broken.
I was a wise-ass twenty,
I thought all good things would be simple,
and flow with the ease of coincidence.
but now I know:
the soil must be tilled,
and there are no tools for this work,
and it will be beautiful and horrible,
because it's only liking if the loving's easy,
and every last revolutionary, remarkable, ineffable shoot
is worth the work.