Listen to the warm

It’s nice sometimes

to open up the heart a little

and let some hurt come in.

It proves you’re still alive.

If nothing else

it says to you–

clear as a high hill air,


as diving through cold water–

I’m here.

However wretchedly I feel,

I feel.

I’m not sure

why we cannot shake

the old loves

from our minds.

It must be that

we build on memory

and make them more

than what they were.

And is the manufacture

just a safe device

for closing up the wall?

I do remember.

the only fuzzy circumstance

is sometimes where and how.

Why, I know.

It happens

just because we need

to want and to be

wanted, too,

when love is here or gone

to lie down in the darkness

and listen to the warm.

Rod McKuen