That LOVE is a
tenuous and plausibly improbable feat is subtlety
Love unstitched itselt before
the surgical orchestra was done
Its sinews snap from the line of life that Breath fuels on; unsinewing.
Love, why must it be so hasty!
Like a dove it perched its roots so gracefully
on my Eye’s charmed porch
Like a panicked pigeon its droplets
soaked my newly washed braids and soiled the plaits
that are twines of me.
Love has wrung itselt before the stains it spotted are removed
But like a bird, beautiful
and far, far more fiercely
as an Acorn
Love is hard-shelled