It was my Mother 
who taught me to ski.

Where I grew up,
learning to ski 
was part of the cultural programming -- 
more fun than ice skating, 
more folly than ice fishing.

I also learned to obey authority
and that hugs are only for 
special occasions.

And why the hell did I learn 
to feel unworthy of amazing women?
For what would that be perfect?

Culture codes us with big pixels, 
makes for rough edges.

But that was then.
Initialization.
Love acts weird 
when bugged with fear.

So how do we learn to love?
Is it innate? Beaten out of us?
Is it promoted? Like profit?

More like buried, 
like treasure.

Today I am homeward,
riding a gondola 
down a mountain
full of secrets.

On the 
banquet beer shoulders
of a nearby peak
the sunset shines a 
rosy glee.
Castoff feathers of spindrift fly,
like angelic epaulets
fourteen thousand feet 
high.

Who's there?
Is that you?
A greeting from up above?

Downward I glide, 
grinning, 
digging, 
learning to love.

         -- Kirk Merlin