Love. What a small word
we use for an idea so immense and powerful.
It has
altered the flow of history,
calmed monsters,
kindled
works of art,
cheered the forlorn,
turned tough guys to
mush,
consoled the enslaved,
driven strong women mad,
glorified the humble,
fueled national scandals,
bankrupted robber barons,
and made mincemeat of kings.
How can love’s spaciousness be conveyed in the narrow
confines of one syllable?
Love is an ancient delirium,
a
desire older than civilization,
with taproots spreading
into deep and mysterious days.
The heart is a living
museum.
In each of its galleries, no matter how narrow
or dimly lit,
preserved forever like wondrous diatoms,
are our moments of loving,
and being loved
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