Day: February 23, 2025

How Could You Ever Love Me

How could you ever love me
now
after so many winters past,
carved rivulets form
upon my face,
winter cold tunnels
furrow
nettled branches
upon my lips —

now
when my arms and legs
are krummholz,
tree branches
disfigured by cruel
north winds —

what ever do you see
in my tired eyes
the way one tenderly beholds
a newborn eaglet
breaking from its shell
expectant
for its maiden flight —

do you see beyond the farthest
ebony-ice mountains,
the mystery of the uttermost
remote white stars,
the silent moon,
disregard
the momentary sparkle
of the here and now —

how could you ever love me
bone and marrow,
petal and sepal,
root and river.

D. G. Vachal © 2025

Image by Susan-lu4esm@pixabay