"the story of my"

this tiny sign, just

above the box of pens, said
and says "take,

but don't keep"
How perfect
and apt that is,
to me.

It is good
advice given imperatively.

These pens

are yours,
or one of them,
to use - but

it is not yours.

Make any words you like,
such as "mine,"
your not-yours pen
will pliantly humor you. Draw any line,

but you'll be drawn back: return, relinquish,
now we are through.

That comma,
a sole mercy,
that sharp slack tiny transfixed lull,
means so much to me.

That moment
deliberately interposed,
given to say: it's okay,
you can have,
you can hold,
you can take,
you can use - cradle this

in mind, you can take that
with you - but you can

not keep.

Walking out of the building,
my breast pocket cried
from the empty place in it,
where nothing can hide.