I am left – handed and under the influence of Love.
The hieroglyph of love in English originally
sounds “lufe” phonetically, dove sounds “duve”.

The new sounding of words thrown to water or air is a measurement only in context, in time.

I luff you like a flapping sail.

People are silhouettes made dark by words:
long sentences from the tops of their heads
unsheathe like spiral orange peels
becoming ghosts of air.

Words, silent and without oxygen
folded into dark books
are seeds.

I believe that the word
has died
but that it changes all the time.

Jesus the Carpenter makes dovetails in heaven
now as he did then–
before anyone ever signed love at the end of a letter
Love was not a word.

This is the rising of the new word Love,
which was torn from the wings of a medieval dove
to feed the guns for war.

If you are fighting for me, love,
you should set your chivalry aside

My luve will be always smiling
until my love has died.

Luve. Dufe.

If words without thoughts rise up
Then these words rub gently blue sky as they’re spoken.

These clouds pillow the ear
To some dream felt but not by touching

The one who sees wears glass eyes
held in transition,
entranced, yet one step

apart from
that exact pull in space
which makes the wave turn its back
to shore/that parting
of the waves which makes all things possible
Love a fossil.