No one knows what it is.
No one you’d count on
knowing has a clue, which is true
mystery, not obfuscation,
a question contending
with the topsoil of time.
Desire’s what’s the matter
with our lives, a sea parting
to reveal another sea.
Its command renews,
swells and beckons:
You’d be a fool not to love
until the last second.
