The Broken and The Whole

To be able to swallow the broken
we must feast on what is still whole—
taste the air, not just gulp it,
enjoy the apple-scented rose
having its strange winter flush,
savour a childish delight in mud
even as the waters rise.

For every fear, allow pleasure,
a heedless, senseless pleasure
in whatever it is you love.
Revel in the certainties—
the rising sun,
the moon pulling the tides,
the ones you love
and are loved by.

Allow joy and worry in equal measure,
and keep the proportions in check.
A cook knows to double all parts,
not just some—
as much liquid as dry,
extra sweet to balance the salt—
a widened pan to hold it all,
the broken and the whole.