It’s Valentine’s Day here in chilly Florida. I brought my old ladies a tub of daffodils, and Mum bought some fresh scallops for us to cook for supper. We three have spent a happy day doing not much of anything; I bundled up and walked twice on the beach, picking up and admiring shells, particularly, today, the liquid glint of mother-of-pearl inside abandoned oysters.
after all the lovers have departed
to other arms or the deep embrace of death,
another awareness arises
a drift of snowdrops, scatter of daisies, shine of dandelions,
a rush of wings, skirl of cloud, tilt of sail, splash of ducks,
a whiff of seaweed, tangle of driftwood, ripple of sand,
a bend in the trail, slant of sunlight, patch of dappled shade,
a solitary heron standing on one leg, a cat asleep on a windowsill,
frogsong all night long, glimmer of moon, dream of mother of pearl
in such a world,
how would it be possible to fall out of love?