Pleasures Can Never Be Owned

At the table I ask for our blessing
From all the saintly beings
Who hang like moon halo's
In the expanse of understanding
And I falter a little as I speak
Then gather the words more strongly
Into a sense of truth.
I am afraid of the struggle
As we cling onto each other
Like octopuses with our expectations
Of pleasure, comfort, and harmony.
In moments of clarity and doubt
I see myself slowly strangling you
With unconscious aversion
For pain, uncertainty and emotions.
Trying to shape you into
A perfect and impossible consolation.
Blessings come in different ways.
Like the gentle wise humor
Of letting go
What you've never held.
Seeing how each time you grasp
Your hands become empty again.
How pleasures can never be owned.
May we be blessed with wisdom
You and I Margaret.