100.

Love is a Stonehenge, virtual to some,

Palpable to others, a circle,

A temple, a long haul. Perhaps it is

The orientation of the light, the stone brought

All that way to make something splendid,

In common. Explanations are rains

That pelt, drench, mist and fall from

The monument. The metaphysics of love

Falls back on the physical world: bodies

Abide beneath the sun. What sacrifices

Are made for the unspoken, unseen?

Your face is round before the moon. Time hides

What we want most: we dig and say to regain

The garden, bring gods into our bones.