Is it stone, heavy, round
as so it goes round and round,
or can it be an errant string
pulls the heart into a kink?
And who comes home inside
an empty room to dance,
the rain outside, the dog
sleeping by the fire?
When the moon rises to her shelf
one creature who is satisfied
completely by herself, who loves
silence like a warm, familiar bed
or as the ocean loves its obeisant shores.
What is love? Even nature is perplexed.
Although it is the sun who rises filled
with gifts for every living beast.