do these feelings recur only because the tree has not yet borne fruit,
the seed has not yet matured, the rain has not yet made the earth full?
or is it something more?
if i am love,
will i last beyond the summer season, beyond ripeness,
beyond the harvest moon?
is it possible for love to live longer than a season
without becoming rigid, without dying out,
without encasing itself, lying dormant until the next spring?
is it possible that i will resist being carried,
a fluff on the wind,
and instead allow something to catch me,
keep me here?