I Saw Love Sunday at Centennial Park

I celebrate love when I see it—
an old friend I recognize sometimes
with patterns still familiar:
It circles the heart,
racing like a two-year-old
chasing his older sister
with tiny strides, occasional falls
and always smiles.
It sings in the soul
like the Music City musicians
sharing songs on the Parthenon steps.
It flies like the kite
swimming smoothly in the sky
then flapping his wings
like a mating mockingbird.
And when it giggles, love
closely resembles the
girl in the pink coat
petting the dog of a kind stranger.
It captures like the shot
taken by a photographer
so moved by the mother
clumsily tossing pigskin joy to her son
he wants the moment stilled.
I sit to celebrate, and the wind
shuts these poet eyes,
tells my hair strands to return
the waves of grass blades,
curls the corners of my mouth, and
whispers distractions which
make my memory forget:

Love, I don’t know you anymore.