Our life consists of
little more
than round figures of
days, years, and decades.
Utter unawareness
of early days
is followed by
helplessness
of latter days.
We become conscious of
the briefness of life
and a desperate
need to survive,
when we love.
The chill of the cemetery
stalks every bed of love,
between breaths of passion
it pants coldly.
it is love's paramour
and partner.
It is everywhere ---
in the waters of spring
in the wayside flowers
in the crowns of trees
in every sensual encounter
in the darkness beyond
in the trails left behind
and in everything
we dream to achieve.