Monday, July 12, 2010


at times I don't know our love's depth,
sometimes I'm walking
down a path exactly the way
I walk up it, sometimes I don't know
the sex of the daffodils.

Soon I know like a tight green bulb
that we are entwined by the vines
of grapes that I went near
but did not pick
when I was young.

We're an island on an island
on an island towering
straight from a center, wielded
slightly by the strongest centers
of others, now from every molten heart
our orbits among the length of our love
longer than our progress along it, some-
times we are late to discover
the strength of the daffodils.

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