Love sounds good
on paper
but paper love
is too easily
crumpled, torn, and burned.
True love
comes from
a more primitive place
not bright white smoothness
eight point five by eleven,
but from an ancient seed
blown to the ground
and buried in death
that transforms into
something greater
Always reaching for the light,
though daily assailed
by gales
or scorching sun
Perhaps not comforting,
but necessary.
Jason Kanz 