Love that longingly bypasses
all the providential synapses
that paints a scene on canvas
that was not there a day before
but hungers like the worm.

The love of others we can not know
or even see mostly behind
doors of tenuous strangerliness
behind windows for quick peering
not in there where it thrives.

Love on the phone grew
in blue spurts and bundles
like chakras and chrysanthemums
fired up without hunkering down
distance bailed out and buried it.

Love of child and children
as unquestionable as rooting
and sprouting in spring damp
a sun today and warm lamp
to fall asleep by so slowly.

Love missed in the most common
kind we don’t throw ourselves
off bridges or into cellars
come and gone so powerful
endless in potential and regret.

Then there is practical love
a mongrel growling at passersby
it was given a name once like King
now on a chain it guards its own
food, water and territory.

Descending in a chariot on fire
real love swinging from its heavenly
wire from rigging we pray to
we know we need no net.
It will not let us plummet, will it?

Love alone, in pairs, and crowds
on my trudging I wonder how
the hundred legs of uncoordinated
caterpillar love becomes the dance
so passionately proliferated.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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