“Love seeketh not itself to please.”
–William Blake, “The Clod and the Pebble”
This is not some wild-eyed love
borne aloft by the winds of despair.
It is instead, a quiet coming home,
a long spring walk in the country.
There is no watchman in sight
to count down our thoughtful days.
Only melting snow, the good sun
and a new pasture to clear.
You are done with corrals, muse
and it is enough for the moment
that each of us cares,
and that all of our dream-rides
need never be harnessed.