A Theme

Perhaps it was to have become a theme, a life a pattern of recurrences, significance redeeming pleasure, each time I love you returning under gray skies from another country where I would have visited in joy and sadness old friends whom you have never met. Now we are separate lives under the same sky and with a common language to imagine the grass on the boundaries of pastures beyond the straining necks of cows and horses and fields green in intense green of evening extending from roads through distant valleys under blue hills whose sides are falling gray. I love you I love you I love you and I do not know what love is worth, although it seems to have become a theme. 28 February 1982