The dream of love
comes from clouds,
from the wild eyes of horses,
from the laughter of water falling.
It lives in simple houses,
in stone sinks,
in wooden tables and chairs,
in loaves of bread,
in dustpans and brooms,
in a bed of love
where sunlight
shines in the sheets.
Love is poetry,
a poetry that asks of us
all the heart:
to drink the brew of heaven,
to pour out simple
shifting fragrances in words,
or colors, or the forms of things.
How rare is the soul
who knows how precious is the gift
being offered.
The Great Love
is everywhere,
enveloping us
as oceans
enwrap fish,
as sky holds birds and clouds—
yet how rare the soul
who can drink it in
and wake up,
with a passion to share
this poetry of life,
these colors of God’s dream.