Love is an abstract painting:
Colors convey a feeling but not an idea
the frame barely holds it together and the lines
trail outward, repeat, and redouble
I can’t discern the meaning
can’t analyze or write out an explanation
I can’t fathom obtaining the truth because I am not rich enough to buy it
and I am not interested enough to keep visiting the museum
It is September, yet
I can still hear the beach.
The sea moves and swells;
it tumbles to the shore,
dusts itself off,
They deserve to laugh and sit on the floor and coo over babies.
They deserve to talk in a language I don’t understand.
They deserve to look at each other with love.
Sweat gathers everywhere as
I climb the golden pavement.
The known ways, the known faces
are waves in the sound.
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