tender compassion.
that’s what I am sending you today.
it does not fit in a box;
I cannot address it to you and mail it.
it does not have weight that can be measured
by any scale or judge.
even if I put it in a clear plastic bag
I cannot see it and
I cannot prove it’s there.
no package will arrive that you
can open, take out the contents to wear.
you cannot clothe yourself with my gift.
it will not keep
until tomorrow.
I cannot hide it in a book.
I cannot fax it, cannot transfer it,
cannot transfuse it
like blood.
I can only send it,
and pray that you
receive it
and that your soul is adorned with it
the way light adorns the earth
when morning rounds the bend.
