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"The Worry of Love"

without the slightest doubt
there is love in this world—
its pulse beneath the skin,
a current,
a surge.

what troubles me
is not its presence
but the mouth’s failure,
the hand’s hesitation,
the way language
falls short.

I want to say it
and the words fracture,
scatter like glass
on a tiled floor.

so I circle,
I gesture,
I underscore the silence—
hoping you will hear
what I cannot shape.

love is here,
undeniable,
but always slipping
between the lines,
          like water
through open fingers.

.