Love, a poem by Rojan Zét

Love

Must love crawl on knees to find
its way, or does it seep and flow,
as if in play to find the path of
least resistance toward the gate
of no admittance? When knees are
broken, what's to stop it, up and
running from a faucet, at a glade
or in a bower, flowing quickly
like a shower. Just some twisting
you can do, a few turnings of the
screw will stop the flow and wilt
a flower, opening spaces by the
hour, until all is once again
parched and dry, seeking rain,
love's subtle power.

Rojan Zét