Love

Were I to say it once,

I'd mean it forever.

Yet by forever I mean not only,

For only does not make special.

Were you now to split this heart,

In two,

In four,

In more,

You'd find not oozing tar,

Spread cross these strings,

From pain, sorrow, and loss.

Instead, clear as crystal springs

True love we find

Not in bond or lust,

Not in touched and seen,

But in the soul of one who stood,

Though fallen,

Bleeding,

And through lies,

Death and defeat,

Still standing,

Throwing it back

And asking again.

A piercing note of hope

Amidst angry cries

As it begs "Once more"

Of the patient skies.

And with the quiet answer

Seas of anger settle

To what was,

Before details.

My love.

Not a person,

Not a one,

Just this.

Neither taken,

Nor given,

It was ever mine.

In the light,

Waters flowed,

So it grew,

Tall and bold.

And in darkness,

Trying to cut back,

This briar within,

Thorns shredding,

Still it grew.

Living not in muscle,

In blood or brain,

But transcending matter,

Exceeding thought,

Imagination,

Making me believe in

Believing in something.

While anger quiets in death,

This laughs and cries

And continues,

Undiminished,

In full spectrum and splendor.

This is mine.

And this in me,

This marvel,

A miracle,

This lives in all,

More varied and complex

Than could ever be contained

By a book,

Or a helix,

Or a god.

For how can this be,

This purity,

Buried in each of us,

Who are but flesh,

Fragile and foolish.

We pull it out

Hold it up

And waste it away

As God

Or biology

Or nothing.

Perhaps the fall

Was looking out to see in.

But this is mine,

Blinding sunlight,

And I know I can’t explain.