Love keeps opening

I did not know what love was until I encountered one that kept opening, and opening, and opening

                                                                        Christian Wiman

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Where, O where, is love?

Where is that love that will not let me go?

That love, into which I gently descend,

overcome

overwhelmed

sometimes I wonder if there is such a thing

as there seem to be so many limits

so many conditions on love

and love is absorbed

by expectations, and fears

busy-ness, and need

and disappears, as if it never was

but then there are mornings

as the sun hits the top of the peaks

freshly coated with snow

and the crisp clean air carries the scent

of wet grass, and juniper, and pine

a deer play tag in the pastures

and I remember

that love

that keeps opening, and opening, and opening