Tuesday, December 9

love on a waxing moon

It is like cold, Love is... finding with precision any exposed parts.

It is like
heat, Love is... a siren song of warmth sung to frozen land.

It is like
stillness, Love is... the quiet space of birds mid-flight.

It is like
dark, Love is... in it's night, the moon burns bright and clear.

It is like
light, Love is... pink musing of daybreak unfolding into afternoon.

It is like
water, Love is... floating currents swirl downstream.

It is like
breath, Love is... instinctual rhythm of in and out, in and out . . .

1 comment:

  1. What a beautiful poem. Yes. Love is all that you have written here. And, when it dies, it is like the brown leaves on the ground: rotting, yet quietly turning into the fresh soil and new ground of future, spring-like joy.

    Stay warm!