When love lasts like a day: born anew, and gone astray, never meant to remain,
in a breeze and blown away,
How does man separate all the love from hate?
How does man find a place for his broken faith?
How does man reconcile what remains of the day?
How does man come to love so wild again?
Packed up the moon. Dismantled the sun.
Sat in a quiet room with whitewashed grief, undone.
No sight for blue skies through the view of red eyes.
But the blue kept breaking on through the blinds.
«And all its beauty was still the same,»
so said, my North, my South, my East, my West.
«Now love, wildly, again.»