My love is not a page full of pretty poetry more like fires of rage atomic bomb imagery melted hearts boiled tears I gave you charred flowers once in many loveless years a Pompeii Bouquet of hours.
Every language is a song, every dialect a dialogue. Sounds without letters conveyed love for millennia. **** nothing, for all are our brothers and sisters. Wander into woods, pick berries and seeds. Say a prayer. Splash in a cool creek. Make no path as you walk across an open field. Hills become higher. Soon they are mountains. Know snow. Find your way to the ocean. Beaches tell you you're there. Waves keep greeting you. Sunrays and warm breezes blow you dry as you lie naked in the sand. Our land is all of these. Say another prayer and give thanks.