As heavy as 800 pounds of cloven hoof
pressing down tracks in dry dirt,
arranging grains of soil in
perfect raised ridges at the cleavage.
As light as the dry-soil grains,
one upon the other,
in the perfect ridge of a cloven hoof print.
As heavy as the weight of the day,
taken to bed and pressed down into the pillow
for a head too full of wring and burn
to lift up even one more time --
As light as the feathers of a pillow,
cushioning the medicine ball head.
As heavy as sleep so deep that
the toddler wakes at nothing --
music booming, parents fighting --
As light as the sleeping toddler’s
eyelashes barely touching cheeks,
long, lovely brush strokes
in their upward sweeps.
As heavy as a heart
turned to stone,
As light at the love
that left it that way.