That’s measurement of the immeasurable;
but love’s journeys
be they dawn to dusk and back
or the willing of orbits to meet
charting the life of a raindrop
or chasing moonbeam over water
with eye and whisper
evade the grasp of fingers
slip out of heart-vessel
like fishnet with a tear that won’t heal;
so
we talk of how far we’ve come
and
discuss love’s measurementin distances unforbidden
for heart and feet
in their strength and tenderness
but left un-traversed
for reasons that will not get written:
Love
is not abandonment,
of
journey and self,but is measurable
in these ephemeralities.
LEAVE A COMMENT
Malinda, who are 'WE' (so we talk of how far we’ve come)in this poem?
ReplyDeletepoetry belongs to the reader.
ReplyDeleteand the "The Reader" reads
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