Love is funny. . .
It is patience,
Sitting by a field
tending the sprouting green
as it layers over the remains
of every prior season
to see what colors arise
to paint name
a pink tremor on your lips
the cloudy blue cocktail,
stirring in you eyes
or a canopy of golden plans
in dreaming the next adventure
But we are also delving
changing and shifting
picking through earth's pockets
for the unexpected
a timeless day
when we lighten our burdens
or the perfect corner
of my arm for you to rest
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