So Little Contained in So Little

I haven't been in touch because I haven't been in touch. I have been in so much contact: with car horns and taxis, expectations and fears, airplanes and security lines. I have not touched ground except when I'm with a few—Jesus, Jake, Carmen, my mom... everyone else is so close, clambering... I am afraid I will get nothing done if I spend a night emailing here and there, because an email gets a response, then we pull out our calendars, and meet and connect, and plan to do it all again at the end...

...and it all feels like hemorrhaging.

I have a little to give, I feel, and I am desperately collecting rocks on the edge of this river, in hopes of creating a reservoir of time, place, things. I cannot. Slow it all down.
I cannot

go back and describe each weekend with Jake        seeing herons on a river
swimming in the quarry to escape the heat
churning ice cream          driving through the greenest places the country has to offer
touching those places
letting it rain
and waiting to catch breath on a mountaintop in Morocco          in West Virginia
hitching a ride
watching the sunset spill pink over a silver river before the blankets were pulled down and the heat settled into the stones' accumulated hearts

and we slept there, in a tent on the ground          mosquitoes without,
the only monsters,         and Time,
to be reckoned with if they got inside to us.

Held close. Closer. Each stone.

Driving to you through the worst storm of my life, the clouds a watercolor above, and gathering from below.
At the end of it all—were your arms around me.

Is gratitude ever a product of fear? I wonder if it can go on, and know what I don't know. Love in its wisdom goes on giving what it has today, hoping its hope and loving its love.

Love, can you understand? Does it matter? Since I will be by your side in the morning.

I have fought myself: my pride and my reticence to be known, my jealousy of moments you had without me—no rewriting allowed—things God himself can't change that happened because they happened.

Oh, Love. Our all is so little contained in so little.