O.D.E.

Love is its own place,
having no distance behind
of cultivated countryside.
Love is like the grass
flattening out, suntanned,
but green and sudden underneath.
As worms wriggle from the sun,
seeking the deep earth, love
longs for the soil of its birth,
and silently springing into light,
glows with the earth.
Love is its own place,
its own beginning and
its own death.