Illness

A poem about the nature of love lost

If you love him, let him go.
Bird from the hand,
with a kiss, you know.

Is there an idiom for the ache?
For a forever of tomorrows,
with mementos of yesterday,
tip toeing through lines of poetry?

A lifetime of looking for a future
at the bottom of a teacup.
Maybe the herbs can offer a cure
for this illness with a name.

We call it heart sick, heartbreak.
As though it were a wound that mends.
And not a series of scars that show
where you go and where you've been.