the language of should

the language of should

i know what i should do now—

of course

i have always known—

as if knowing is something

simple and clear

as ice formed on my fingernails

but should is no more a part of me

than not loving you—

as i know i should leave that behind—

listening over and over

to a song about letting go—

doing as he should and she wishes. . .

there is a much different story

here however—

a story of the bone of the matter

nailed, sanded, shaped with care

a story of being that is beyond should

and bitter to the fingertips

but this story can fill a glass

or make your eyes well up

unlike the commandments offered

in the language of should—

in this story he built a house—

a façade in fact

an igloo of stucco and wood—

only the appearance of ice

like the appearance of letting go

if i were to bow before leaving