The Dust of Eden by Danielle Page

Shall I compare love at all, really?

With its singularity, its force?

What it means, its unknown source

Without it, our — seclusion — lingers

Without it, our lone selves wander

But there is no comparison

To that breath into earthen nostrils

Only knowing — the truth — singled

Out for us to give,

We divide

Our halves into

New wholes

To split our love

That it might

grow.

Danielle Page is a truth-teller and graduate student at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Originally a Yankee in the South, she’s now learning midwestern ways. When she’s not reading up on composition theory, she’s scribbling in her Moleskine journal or hiking a mountainous trail.  Her work has appeared in the Whale Road Review, The Voices Project, and Pacific Poetry.