Love is quiet
like the bearded white cedars
below November,
after storm,
in dark quiet
when even an eye turning
is thunder.
Love is strong
as stone,
or wind that washes stone away,
or stone that barricades the wind again,
and again, is strong.
Love is always,
love the river knows
when shore and water surrender,
becoming the other,
always.
Love stays
as the strong lines
cut deep
that you hold simply,
in an open hand. |