It was Life

I fell in love
because I couldn’t see him
I fell in love
because I couldn’t touch him

In the beginning,
my Lover appeared—
once, twice, three times:
as a man.

He was a man.
A very lovely man,
with very lovely eyes:
the shape of the moon
on the clearest of summer nights;

Hands like lightning

Striking a nearby tree.


In the beginning, it was three times.

We met
Three Times.


And then and then, he
(the man) was gone.
He returned to his country
and his hands were no more.


I fell in love when I couldn’t
see him…so I made
songs to the air,
offered gifts of poem;
I made many enticements to bring him back,
and to communicate (somehow)

the Depths.


The trees and the water were my witness.

I prayed.


The sky and the earth:

My witness.

I prayed.


I could not see him.

I could not touch him.

I wondered if I knew him

And my heart,           my heart was broken.


But…oh, oh, oh I could not not
so I fell in love:
I fell in love
with you, instead.


The world…
had seemed such
a muddy mess…and now,
now, glimpses of a new world.
A world where shattered mouths
could drink from goblets again.

Pour the wine!


Oh Lover,
I fell in love.
I fell in love.
Which is another way of saying—
I fell in love,
I fell in love:
and it was not real or imagined.

I fell in love.
I could not see him
I could not touch him
when it happened.

(…This was always the plan, wasn’t it?)

The way your hand
Would fit into mine;
The way your heart
Could whisper and soothe
like no other.

Oh how I begged for him!

Oh, how I nearly died for him!

And you appeared!



It was the eyes, looking
back into itself.
It was the girl, the girl from the convex mirror.
It was the boy—when they said the mirror was cracked.
It was memories,
memories of the past:
Two Sisters,
and how they vowed their love would grow
Next Time.
It was brothers and mothers and children
from all time.
It was baskets,
always weaving;
And it was reeds,
always holding us,

always moving.


It was sex, it was beauty, it was family.
It was choice, it was destiny,
It was desire. It was
comfort, fear, ambition, loss.
It was lightning
striking the tree
from the window
you cannot see.

It was love.


It was life.

anya-light-38      Halle Roland Photography


Love this post? If so, you might also like Opening Love, a compassionate guidebook through the challenges and ecstasies of intentional and polyamorous relationships.


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