Is it lingering at the apex
of a snowy mountain?
Is it frosting underneath the sheets
Is it kissing the gray clouds while
tormenting the blue sky,
leaving god of heights asking, “Why?”
Is it idling in the ocean floor
of a catatonic sea?
Is it hiding in the corals
in fi’ty shades of pink?
Is it shying like pale pearls,
. . . so hidden in bold oysters;
. . . so wanted by mistresses in red;
. . . so ignored by pickpockets
. . . all so in love with golds and silvers?
Is it up
in the bruised infinite arc?
Is it seeping the inflamed cut
of horizon uncut?
Is it among those stars
not in sight:
Vega, Deneb, Castor,
Rigel, Canopus, Altair, Alphard—where are those dancers who can make this right?
Is it in kaput,
Is it in the very bottom
Is it just for the dead?
They’re getting flowers and candles,
the prayers and longing;
While us, alive, and we have nothing?
Why it seems so wrong to perfectly breathe and living without it? Why is it unwarranted for the heart to throb just for itself? Should Cupid and stupids be summoned for the answers?
It’s more than forty-eight hours since this painstaking search began; why can’t missing emotion be filed at this time? This heart, though suspected of interest, is rallying in silent tears for the answers.
Is it in the corner
Is it at the forefront
Is it in rainbows’ end
so unreachable even by the fittest feet willing to climb and bend?
Is it at the far left of sun?
Is it in the closest right of moon?
Can I get there soon?
Oh no, monsoon!
Where, Where, Where Is Love?
Writing to Freedom
MW The Mermaid
Edmark M. Law