In Loving Time

In loving time,
we find again that circumstance
can fool the mind;
the heart that follows, wondering
where all it ends.
The all that is in each of us —
it’s true, my friends.

In loving, time
becomes that thing, both meaningless
and precious, true —
what all there is, and was,
that matters; what to do
when ruptures happen everyday
and vainly, we seek signs.

Out in the hills,
a meadow green that’s rarely seen,
much like the heart of love that hides
mid concrete walls;
and yet, it’s worth the trip

the trouble, and

the climb

to spend the minutes that we have

in loving time

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