Love is:
hearing a song
having it stop
and still hearing the rest
It’s three women
watching and smiling
fat lorikeets
eating apples from a tree
It’s looking at those trees
through squinted eyes
turned silver white
and seeing them line heaven
It’s being met
at a cliff edge
by the reassurance of Wind
and a warm womb of green
It’s a reflex of thought
that seeks the pulse
of a treasured stranger
in the far nearby
It’s having a fire
that burns a path
towards a place
that seems already familiar.
