It is my nature
to fall in love.
But I missed the point
trying to collide into the silence
of asking the question
of what time

is the right time
for my nature
to question
whether or not love
demands silence
to reach the ultimate point.

What point?
Is there time
enough to silence
the nature
of love
so we may question

the question
that leads to the point
of love?
Adamantine time
folds within nature,
crushed like a diamond into silence.

Thus silence
is not in itself a question
of nature,
a point
in time
where love

can unabashedly be love,
unscathed by the silence
of pressed time
or the insidiousness of the ultimate question.
Oh do not ask, “What is it?” The point
is that it is my nature.

To question
is the point
of my nature.

Not familiar with sestinas? Here’s the skinny.