Love is the fiery intention and the breath wet with dew. 

It stabs at the pillars of loss and chips them clean of jealousy. 

It clears out the fields of the crickets and the thorns

to make way for new life, again,

our home an outcrop of resolve

amid the blanket of a world,

the hush of its war-time battling

that is miles away and is yet with us,

we carry it in, having grown up

steeped in its hatred, but:

Love is a practice, a discipline,

a fiery intention, a breath of wet dew. 



after "Minecraft" by C418

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

BC, Canada