A Love Poem

I am writing the simplest love poem my imagination can conceive. The beloved whose being this poem celebrates has not yet appeared. There are rumors come our way of a distant woman who rules over hearts, a likely candidate in terms of sheer beauty. But is that sufficient? Is beauty, however stunning, a sufficient thread to bind us over time and space in a wholeness of being? She draws lovers into her orbit, she assigns each a speed and trajectory to prove their love, or to be exposed as impostors. Either way these lovers, one by one, crash against the possibilities of love. Their debris, their dashed hopes, their crushed souls will be the fundament of a New Age of Love. I myself, who so long to summon love to my presence, will set aside that personal quest, and write elegies for those martyrs, whose sacrifice highlights the simplest act of love. I must pause in homage.