You can’t see Love as you can’t see a wind
that stirs fall leaves to vortex pirouettes,
yet still you know it’s there but can’t be pinned
to definitions, caught in language nets.
You know it’s there, like wind that makes leaves dance,
from what, because of it, we’re moved to do,
like make a work of art, or steal a glance,
lend a hand, console a friend, or woo.
Love, unseen, leaves traces in the way
a wind incites fall leaves to dance ballet.
Mario A. Pita