where the writers are
sweetbreads for sweethearts

love is grand and delivers great healing and great injuries.

I think most people aren’t up to the task. they say they want it but they’d rather remain penned up behind their gates. they fear the wolves in the woods. worry they’ll be devoured and disappear.

their loyal friends issue anxious warnings: "stay here with us! don’t venture beyond the gate."

they become a closed circle, bovines huddled together against the threat of hammering rain, loss of sustenance, predators. “stay here with us, where it’s safe,” they say. “be like us,” they say. "we will not cross the barriers, no matter how green and sweet the grass, no matter how enticing the sweet stream or sun-kissed meadows. we’ll stay here and root in our stink, here where the discomforts are familiar and dependable. better the misery of the known than the unknown.”

the danger is that you, too, will become a closed circle, and share less and less and keep things to yourself, afraid they will hold you back and down, and poke holes in your small happinesses. charge the fence and eat the sweet grass, loll in the warm fields and drink the cold clear water! and if the wolf comes, lie down, unzip your chest and offer her your wet and bleeding heart.