How is it that love comes
like waves and tides
rising because of the glory of the moon
and the waves
timeless scribbles of moving water
etched for only an indelible moment.
How is that that love rises like a fever,
simmers in silence, and quells
when she wanders...when distance admits
coolness.
How is it Love
we can cling to tenderness and yet
turn so quickly away to follow the flight
of a dancing butterfly; and
how is it Love--
that goodbye lingers wet on the lips
when the last evening breeze left
its dry kiss...so long ago
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