We are all trying to express
in our imperfection
the perfection of love
that changes its shape as the wind
bends trees solid in root,
flexible in space.
The nature of love is true.
Yet we make stories in the wind
give love names, meaning.
Like the leaves on the trees
that change colour
from vibrant green
to orange, yellow, brown,
our stories wax and wane.
And yet the root, the etymology
of love remains the same.