Love Poem

When your love wafts through the air that I breathe like a breeze which caresses the leaves on the trees in the yard, I become a rustling poet.  Have you ever seen a guitar whose strings become taut sensing the presence of a musician?  I am a guitar with taut strings waiting for the right plectrum.

Yet you complain that I ignore you.  My listlessness worries you.  You think I’m moving out of the highway into a dark lane which leads nowhere.  In your discourse, I am the eternal wanderer in search of darkness wearied by the lights of the world.

The gap between you and me is the illusion of a communication that longs to take the shape you want it to have.  My communication is a breeze that touches the leaves intangibly.  My breath is a love poem.

The silence of the guitar is not indifference.