by Kevin T McEneaney
What is love in high C in the morning
when dew nestles on waving leaf and blade
while burning sun has burnt all clouds not nil
and ants scramble through watery meadows?
What is love in B minor in the night
while wind rattles windows and parlor walls
when electricity quits as lines fall
like butterflies in a green hurricane.
What is love in A on Spring afternoon
when a stream trills beneath an arching bridge
while water spiders skim the swift surface
performing an ancient dance before death?
The act of love blooms within minutes
creating a tableaux of memories….