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
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