"Even Then" by m. Claire

This kind of love
it is an organic
thing.

I don't mean
pressing the small, pale
button of a seed
into the accepting earth
as if it is then some guarantee;
as if the young, slender body of a
thing should hold up
more than it's
own head, no

this kind of love -
its footfall is quiet.
Like a camel's in the desert,
or the thick, white, silence of snow.

And it waits -
in the deep of the eyes,
until that moment it is finally seen.

And this kind of love,
it means standing tall in the bare wind,
even as the clouds disband
even as the warm sun finally claims you

yes,

even then.