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by Mary Brunini McArdle

Is love always incomplete?
Missing something–ending?
I ask the lake behind my house:
What can you teach me about love?
Ripples. Ripples extending outward.
Until they reach the boundary
Of the dry land.

What is love? I ask the sky.
Love encircles. But — there is
Always the horizon, isn’t there?

Perhaps the sun could tell me.
Love shines, as I do.
You must set. Sooner or later,

The night will come.

The noon breeze lifts my hair.
Love waves, whispers the breeze.
And floats. Yes, but aren’t there
Moments when all is still?

Does the path have the secret?
I wind for a long while.
And then you stop.

I know better what love is...
A rainbow wrapping ribbons
Round my heart...
Satin and velvet and shot silk.
Let them tangle, let them knot,
In and out, in intricate designs.
They ripple and circle and shine
And wave and wind and gently float.
And when you cut them, there are
Always pieces left.
I want them never to loosen
Their hold on me.

Copyright © 2007 by Mary Brunini McArdle

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