Love, as it is

I wonder too much.  And, like many artists, so often I think…’is there no way to turn this off?’

NO manner in which to avoid those restless nights of sleep.  Dreams of bridges, mixed with words…aligned with sentences.

And, come morning…they are gone!

So much subject matter…so little time.

Yet, there is one item of elegant reference that I will always…prod.  

Who and what and how…

Does one specific person compel us into being our…best selves.

As it is, many before me, have attempted this line of delicate questioning.

As it is, many before me…have done a more proficient study.

As it is, no search is quite the same.

For the needs, wants, desires and, of course, artistry of love.

Is as vast as the snowflakes falling from the sky.



Fragile as a spider’s web
Hanging in space
Between tall grasses,
It is torn again and again.
A passing dog
Or simply the wind can do it.
Several times a day
I gather myself together
And spin it again.
Spiders are patient weavers.
They never give up.
And who knows
What keeps them at it?
Hunger, no doubt,
And hope.

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