Apothecary, in Time of Joy

Phil West

Give your old love letters over

to the fire. There is nothing

that can come of them now.

If you keep them, though, take the praises

and petal them together, in such a way

that I love you simply becomes you are loved,

and all the kisses you collected become

radium as the Curies knew it:

light rested in the palms,

fingertips touching,

a mystery housed

in hands.

Regard the sun as a rare thing

that has come out for you. Use

words like phoenix and resurrection, and believe them.

Be with the cherry trees in the courtyard

in spring, the Japanese Rorschach

of pink and white on the skeletons

you have been avoiding all winter.

Pick your heart out of the branches,

and let it rest. There.