Poets Know What Love is All About

Today, watching television, I heard an actor, in character, proclaim, “Poets know what love is all about.” Then, I thought about my wife.

 

Poets Know What Love is All About

Sometimes I stand
by the window above the sink
as I sip my coffee,

watch waxwings and wrens
snatch berries from the shadbush
near the fence,

imagining each berry, as red as wine,
a heart the birds filch
to fashion breath into sprites

crafted when the wind
weaves through a thatch of wildflowers,
each heart gifting warmth

where there was only cold;
then, I wonder, what you might imagine.

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