The Gift

Love doesn't protect us from loss.
Love instead grows moss
like a bandage to cover our wounds.

Love entails a risk.
There between the text and the meaning
is the chance to miss.

Since a boy I have wondered at love:
how it's said love takes
many forms, many words at arrival

and think often about love’s betrayal:
how love's demands,
must compete as it must for survival,

There's no chance for trade
face-to-face to cut loss and share gaining.
Loss, it seems, takes all.

So winning is never the issue
or the fear of pain,
but the business of giving and taking

as the earth takes rain
and ferries it back to the sun
in a great thanksgiving.

Happiness has little meaning.
Love is a gift
and nothing we create for ourselves.

Sometimes our gift is received
and sometimes is not.
Important as gift is receiving.