What's large should belong in my hands

Love is
held purposely by harp strings
strangely enough, an instrument
I can't play
though try to what is
large should belong in my hands and
held together
by plants never knowing which
is favorite/love is/
gathered together like Queen Anne's Lace
walking down the road
love is
what is
large should belong in my hands
gradually and with pace
a slow twine grows thick on the
forest bed, strong
love is.

Caught

Ruffled a bit, plowed through
vine-ripened, as if,
tricked up to a point
and most definitely fingered--not
in the sexual way rather
accused, rightly, of holding
something of value
salted sad strolling
keep in mind that the waves
you remember
pounded at a space
not chosen necessarily
they kept returning was and was
this is the beach
this the shore
and rocky, the colored cliffs.