untitled

Dear Love, you come to find me
In forms no one ever taught me
To expect:

In the juice of blood oranges staining my cutting board;
Tucked into shared arms I make no attempt to own.
From my rooftop, you are the clouds and the glistening surface of the lake.

In appreciation of integrity, honesty, and intention, I find you in myself, Love.

You laugh boldly in my face from the bathroom mirror;
I hold you in a loose fist as I jump over fire at sunset on the Tuesday before the vernal equinox.
You wiggle in a blue bowl as I break egg yolks with a fork and whisk them into you.
You are my 17 or so strands of gray hair.

How many rediscoveries of you, Love, await me? How delightful, this imperfect life.