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What is Love?




"What is the soul?"

Asks the poet.

And I—

What is love?


All this fanciful talk of it.

The fairytales—

Wild romance—

Promises—

A lifetime.


No, what are the bones of love?

I ask the fields of wheat

Whispering to one another in the wind

About their promise of return next spring.

"It is always willing to try and try again"

Sings the bustling little sparrow

Rebuilding its home down in the underbrush

On a dreary gray morning.


"It is not circumstantial"

Mumbles the mountain

That has remained since my youth

Despite the fire that burned through her trees last summer.

My question finds me

Sitting in a familiar place of brokenness

Alone.

And there,

God answers—


Love is

the field of wheat returning—

The song of the sparrow as he rebuilds—

The mountain remaining.


My breath catches,

The gifts.


Love is returning—

Rebuilding—

Remaining.


Yes, the God of love gently nudges me

To look further—

It is the choice

Just as I continue to choose you.

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