Unnameable

On some nights –
     and tonight might
     be one of them –
the sadness feels
     as though it belongs
     to someone else,
was spun into a veil
     and left here,
     waiting for me
to come home in the evening
     and be greeted by silence,
     suddenly covered, caught
in this cobweb:

I wonder where you
     came from, where you’re going,
     what you’ve needed;
where the edge of permissible
     lies; why you chose
     to involve yourself,
how much I’ll hurt when you leave.

Some days –
     and maybe today
     is one of them –
I wake up
     to the currents
     of  Time rushing on:
The not-enough and too-much
     of it, how it stretches
     out and doubles back,
swallows me again
     and again
     while slipping past.

Sometimes I wonder
     if it’s fair to ask me
     to be brave again,
to love recklessly,
     without a hint of definition.
     What does it mean, to unbox it?

Perhaps this is the deal
     we’ve made, the bargain
     struck between joy and sorrow,
the vow that’s taken
     when you’re wedded to life
     and the living of it.