It is at the edge of a petal that love waits.
Crisp, worked to defeat
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
the Milky Way
from it–neither hanging
The fragility of the flower
~William Carlos Williams from Spring and All (1923)
It is common to look for love only inside the heart of things, pulsing front and center as both showpiece and show off. We think of love reverberating from deep within, loud enough for all the world to hear and know it is so.
But as I advance on life’s road, I have found the love that matters lies quietly waiting at the periphery of our hearts, so fragile and easily torn as a petal – clinging to the edges of our lives barely holding on through storms and trials.
This love remains ever-present , both protects and cherishes, fed by fine little veins which branch out from the center of the universe to the tender margins of infinity.
It is on that delicate edge of forever we dwell, waiting to be fed and trembling with anticipation.