matter or mystery

are we held together by

whim, purpose, design, or

something else entirely?

I watch the sun light up the snow,

It’s touch melting though

In the shade of the understory

There is ice, gray layers thick with treachery.

I know it will melt as surely as the sun will rise

Tomorrow even with no direct caress

It is only a matter of time

Passing quietly, leaving no trace.

in the back of my mind

an awareness-

it is possible, even if improbable, for ice to linger,

to remain attached, a year, or five, or longer

by some whim, purpose, or design.

what else do I not understand?

I know a woman not quite

Four score years

Her face alight with marks made

By Venus, by the Sun itself

Her eyes marked by mercurial wings.

Thoughts such as mine pass swiftly in

One ear and out the other,

The only thing she holds onto

Throwing reciprocity to the wind (and howling wolves)

Is Love.

whether this is by whim, purpose, design

or something else entirely it is

enough to light up the world.

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