The Love Poem (I Can Not Write for You)
by lois roma-deeley

Inasmuch as trees huddle together
in groves of whispers, their roots
reaching down
into the innermost part of the earth, and inasmuch
as moths are lead blind
when they can not use the moon
to navigate the night, inasmuch as
light travels in waves faster through water
but never enters
the deepest known point in the ocean
even though the largest library in the world burst open
with its 5.5 million maps, inasmuch
as each had a legend, but no key
to unlock the mysteries of us inasmuch
as this story goes.