Love isn't like the woven canopy
of stars whirling in patterns, isn't like
the retrograde motion of the planets.
Love isn't like the wise interpretation
of dreams, grammars and symbols, isn't like
the written clouds, the growing ocean, eyes
illumined in the oblivious library.
Love must love without a figure rendered
in definition, a minister dictating laws
with obscure formulations of scripture.
Love moves us to praise the precious secret
within, where our one true friend is hidden,
remembering himself in restless nothing.
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