There is a clear path, a bend in the river,
with water so light it becomes invisible to the eye,
like a pause in a song;
a hold before the exhalation of the breath;
a void that makes no sense, because we know the water is there
– it must be there and until we dip out toes
we cannot trust the information from our eyes.
So, too is love.
It makes no sense.
It cannot be shown or proved by any sense
-just suggested. And inference that there is some there,
something deep, something great, with sharp edges
that if you are not careful will hurt you.
And still, it can be so smooth and tender and sweet,
like a child sleeping with a puppy on his bed.
And we feel this love all over and nowhere,
it’s neither here nor there, nor any place in between.
And yet, it fills every inch of every space
of our lives, like a magical beast.
We are inflamed by it, enlarged, miniaturized at the same time,
crushed by its heaviness, lifted by its lightness.
This love is a player, the cat to our mouse,
and if we were smart we would walk away.
But we are taken by love. We breathe it, eat it,
pump it in our blood. And somehow,
for all its games, when it is right it makes us more, not less.
Like a Borg, it absorbs our best qualities and
irradiates back to us in a different form.
Resistance is futile.
Futile and unnecessary, because never are we freer than
when we surrender to love, when the I become and us,
and we are complemented and fragmented in such a way
that we only want to be the best of ourselves,
yet not only for who we are, but for those we are meant to be with.
And we enter that river bend, and swim into the invisible water
that has confounded our minds. And what we always known
to be true proves itself right. And love and we become a one.