A Love Song

I thought it died once,
the spark within,
that fuels the heart,
that pumps the blood,
that is the life of me.
I thought it died,
and I wept for it,
for its death
meant death for me.
But the tears became a spring,
a deep and pure spring,
and in the water was the fire,
a thousand lights and flashes,
and in the pain was your desire,
relentlessly questing, delicate desire.
And the flame and the fluid,
the water and the fire,
were mingled yet distinct,
one transparent to the other.
The flame was not drowned
nor the water dissipated.
And this passion of presence
is, after all, beyond sullying,
or sense, or measurement,
and is the love I know
but am so slow to learn.