There is love in the mulligatawny soup,
in the doorbell birds,
in the rain band's smother.
Love in the woman who wears socks
with jandals, in the man
for his pot-belly, the tenderness
as he bears it across the road.
Love in the way the Flat Earth
Society lays the world at your feet.
There is love too in proud hands
whose science, like trees,
relies soley on harmony.
And love in the sun, such attendance
we can count on to set and rise
again, feel its sweet, sweet scald.
Kay McKenzie Cooke