Love at 7 AM

Something is shifting in her.
Changing. Growing. Shrinking.
FInding its size or place.
Nothing you can see.
Nothing you can name.
No, you only feel it, sense it,
glad for it.

You have never been bored with her
and you never will be,
living in a subtle uncertainty,
never at who she was, or is,
but always in who she is becoming,
a delicate dance
where no one leads,
and both follow
in wonder.

About this poem.

A love poem (Obviously). Love poems are the only poems that are only about one thing.

The picture was taken in the quarry across the road from my house.

Tom