April 1, 2020

Words Which Come to Mind At The Thought of Love

Olive branches somehow turned to a bronze oil,
dripped over white petals which float atop a
ship of leaves in the fountain of a secret garden
known only to a sheep dog and a woman who
loves nothing more than to paint olive trees.

Forests growing on a distant planet,
whose trees have a deep red bark
and send their vanilla scent with the breeze,
along with the smell of burning wood from
a fire set upon the ocean’s shore, which on
this planet has deep blue sand speckled with gold,
so that when you walk on it, assuming you’re
used to Earthly skies, it’s as though you’re
walking over the midnight sky as seen from
Death Valley. Your toes kissing the stars. And
the fire you lazily kindle is nothing less than the sun.

Something relevant to physics and chemistry
which explains the improbability of everything
and some other equation which explains attraction.

Barefeet and a world which is comfortably walkable by them.
Everywhere. A world furnished by flowers and fields.

Sewing seeds and sweaters, done in different
weather of course, but done with equal amounts
of love; an amount equal to water falling over
once sharp rocks, now turned to smooth stones,
which hawks like to perch atop when the snow
flow from the mountain tops is rather slow.

Tiny ballerinas dancing atop piano keys.

A fog hovering over a lake whose only ripple
traces back to a shoreline where two deer stand
lapping at their own reflections.

Tree sap boiling in a small log cabin so that the air
is thick with sugary steam; a syrup sauna.
And there’s snow outside whiter than a child’s eyes.

Lighting entire castles by fire. Chandeliers of 1,000 candles.

Rambling hills of green which match the clouds roundness —
Heaven and Earth folding into each other’s grooves.

A redwood and a willow tree’s love child.