I am interested in being love,
free from agendas
and rigid time slots
(that are printed in faded ink,
but not heart).
I am interested in being love,
the butterfly,
determined to
transform
and fulfill
its destiny.
I am interested in being love,
the fierce lion,
the magic crow,
swift spirit animals that
come and go
on walks, and in dreams,
returning persistently
until I notice and see.
I am interested in being love,
breakfast smells
and morning banjos,
silhouettes of books
with enticing covers,
wild weeds
that bloom in
early September.
I am interested in being love,
songs I write,
sometimes tangled
by the words I sing
because they don't matter
at first, until
I listen again and realize
they are me.
I am interested in being love,
when
I stand on this wooden
bench, arms stretched out,
with a view of
pretty and ugly
up high mixed with
deep down
low.
I am interested in being love,
that meets
in the middle,
where sand becomes water,
running toward clarity,
together,
map optional
because the treasure
is the route,
that we make ourselves.
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