The Sweetest Thing

There is a cup I keep filling.
Each morning I fill it.
Each morning it is empty
and warm.

I have learned to love
the weight leaving my hands.

Something in me
has confused giving with going.
Something in me
has made a door of the mouth
and walks through it
smiling.

The less I hold
the more I am held.

This is the secret no one tells you:
tenderness has teeth.
Not the ones that tear -
the ones that receive.

I pour and pour.
The cup never spills.
The cup never asks
where all this sweetness
comes from.

It knows.

I am learning to call this
love.
I am learning to call this
home.

I am almost empty now
and so happy
I could