All that I love

I fold over once

And once again

And keep in a box

Or a slit in a hollow post

Or in my shoe.

All that I love?

Why, yes, but for the moment —

And for all time, both.

Something that folds and keeps easy,

Son’s note or Dad’s one gaudy tie,

A roto picture of a young queen,

A blue Indian shawl, even

A money bill.

It’s utter sublimation

A feat, this heart’s control

Moment to moment

To scale all love down

To a cupped hand’s size,

Till seashells are broken pieces

From God’s own bright teeth.

And life and love are real

Things you can run and

Breathless hand over

To the merest child.

- Edith L. Tiempo