Trickling

I love deeply; I love long. My
heart wells over for the flowers,
for the moon, and for the grass, and

for the mountains I have only
seen in pictures. This sensation
is of melting ice and trickling

water to my toes. It’s softness,
gentleness, protectiveness, and
I can feel it for the laughing

children with the soft, blond hair whom
I have never met. I feel it
for the tired-looking workers

in the stores and on the sidewalks,
for the disappointed teenaged
boys, and sheltered, wide-eyed girls who

look surprised. And I know music!
I touch books! I smell the earth! I
keep the places of my childhood!

And I want to be in love; I
hear the greatest principles of
chivalry, and with my tongue, I

give the ancient spoken words.
I touch God, and from the deepness
of myself, I heal all people.

Why, then, when I think of all the
individuals I know so
well, can I not feel a hint of love?