Paradise

Lovers do not choose
Which springs should fall as memories,
Which hold summer so close
to their chill shawls,
Seasons sneak by in a matter of days.

Sheets of rain may wrap the world
So deeply in a cocoon, all things tied
to an endless metamorphosis;
Every moment is suspended.

Sunlight may cascade, just the same-
New wanderers made of us-
Entwined in pastels, or saturated
with everything under the sky.

Whatever it should be,
We find ourselves drawn together.