Love Poem #1 I curl into the first utterance of sweetheart The word tumbles out of your soft lips and across my body, a gentle waterfall. Divined deep in the mystery of the woods. There is no other purpose to this water than falling - no commerce, no “Sweetheart will you take out the garbage? Darling will you pick up my dry cleaning?” We do not know where this water finds its path past here, only that it falls into this rocky pocked dermis We do not know where it starts, imperceptible trickles that find their way to each other become a stream become a rushing river. Years later we are at the lake that we have made. It sustains so much life on its uneven shores and the path to the lost beginning of love, that river we can never navigate, whose beginning is a mystery a half-remembered memory. Our divining rods irrelevant now and our old knees will not take us there nor can we recall the way through pioneer forest. It is okay this place, lost to us, existed once.