Is love a light beam we shine|
upon our chosen few of heart,
reflected by them upon us?
Or is love an inner sea
contained by, yet containing us,
in turbulence or pleasing calm?
Does a new mother perceive
in her baby's trusting breath
the force of a new volcano?
As a cup that cannot explain its tea
or a husk that fathoms not its corn,
I cradle love as an infinite infant within.
From Heartclips (1996)
by Alan Harris