Un-just

Many-splendored
and completely ordinary 
there’s precious little
more banal
than trying to define the only thing that ever was
trapped in vain attachments
entangling contraptions
of circumstance and expectation

If we only understood 
all of it is just as good
pure, even holy—
we wouldn’t trip over ropes
meant to distinguish 
“friend” from “lover”
one from other
as every flower of the same miracle 
in every color that blooms
Green is hardly less than Red
no one Loved 
just a Friend