A Hurtling-knowing
Love that lands doesn’t measure its hold.
This is the first excerpt I’ve ever shared from Splendor, my essay collection about love.
What of, what is, what and who to quantify,
it’s not in the duration, it’s in the depth,
a shallow river surfaces in the wet season and in the dry,
the town salivates over dreams of blue,
but a dream of water is not enough to sustain you,
and there’s another place beyond the reach of doubt
where you don’t have to ache from thirst or live on hope
and you won’t need to dream of water because you’re already soaked.
