The Timing Of Love

I was tracing the thread through a measure of days, thinking time was the frame that the feeling obeyed Like the weight had a wait and the love had a phase, like it came, then it went, then returned in a wave But the pattern was flawed in the way I would place it, I was mapping a line that was never… …the basis… Every moment I marked was a segment I made, but the motion itself never moved how I traced it I was counting the cost like it needed repaying, like a debt in the chest I was late in conveying I was looking for ways I could give it back equal, but the structure don’t work like a trade between people No sequence or sequel, no ledger or legal, no measure that settles the weight into equal No debit or credit, no settling of levels, no balance that betters the breath of the people It was never divisible, never receivable, never a cycle of owing or paying it equal Not a piece you can peel or a portion to parcel, no partial or profit, no profit to equal It’s a field you can feel when you loosen the need to reduce it to terms that would make it look equal Every beat I was seeking was already speaking, I weakened the meaning by making it equal I was reading it wrong like it needed a sequel, but the motion was present and never unequal So the breath that I take and the steps that I make aren’t a payment, they’re placement of what I’ve been given No waiting, no weighing, no late or delayed, it was laid in the frame before I could envision Every line that I write is a sign I was in it, not something I owe or return to be finished I don’t give it back—I live in the fact that the love was already aligned in the rhythm It was already there… I just had to be here… The timing of love never followed a line, never waited its turn or arrived right on time It was present in places I hadn’t defined, moving through every second I tried to confine I don’t return what was never behind, I just move with the field that was always aligned Every beat, every breath, every step I design… is the timing of love… …in a pattern… …that’s mine Now I step with a sense that was always beneath, not a thought I could think but a truth I could be Every moment I’m in is a mirror of more, not a door that I missed but an already door I don’t measure the love by the time that it stays, I don’t weigh it against what I gave or delayed I let go of the ledger I tried to maintain, and it opened a space… I could never contain… So the motion continues regardless of me, but it moves more precise when I finally see That the heart isn’t bound to a line I can chart, it’s a field I can enter by way of the heart… WITHIN I can feel it… WITHOUT I can stand… BEYOND I can move it… without needing a plan… It was never too late, it was never too soon… I was always inside of the timing of love The timing of love never followed a line, never waited its turn or arrived right on time It was present in places I hadn’t defined, moving through every second I tried to confine I don’t return what was never behind, I just move with the field that was always aligned Every beat, every breath, every step I design… is the timing of love… in a pattern… …that’s mine No sequence… no debt… No late… no regret… It was always in motion… I just hadn’t stepped in it yet