Love, I Find, Is Like

From Barren Brown Stems To Glistening Leaf-buds; From The Leaf-buds To Snowy Virginity Of Bloom…it Was Like A Flute Song Forgotten In Another Existence And Remembered Again. What? How? Why? This Singing She Heard That Had Nothing To Do With Her Ears. The Rose Of The World Was Breathing Out Smell. It Followed Her Through All Her Waking Moments And Caressed Her In Her Sleep.

Grown People Know That They Do Not Always Know The Why Of Things, And Even If They Think They Know, They Do Not Know Where And How They Got The Proof. Hence The Irritation They Show When Children Keep On Demanding To Know If A Thing Is So And How The Grown Folks Got The Proof Of It. It Is So Troublesome Because It Is Disturbing To The Pigeonhole Way Of Life.

She Was Stretched On Her Back Beneath The Pear Tree Soaking In The Alto Chant Of The Visiting Bees, The Gold Of The Sun And The Panting Breath Of The Breeze When The Inaudible Voice Of It All Came To Her. She Saw A Dust-bearing Bee Sink Into The Sanctum Of A Bloom; The Thousand Sister-calyxes Arch To Meet The Love Embrace And The Ecstatic Shiver Of The Tree From Root To Tiniest Branch Creaming In Every Blossom And Frothing With Delight.

Every Tub Sits On Its Bottom.

It Must Be Recess In (heaven) If St. Peter Is Lettin His Angels Out.