The myriad ways that I write her out,
ridiculous and sacred, labyrinthine,
exotic systems meant to persuade one
into an ecstasy supporting bliss.
The consciousness of things, of deep blue clouds
sublime on the horizon; the knowing
of streams and rivers, oaks and pines. I have
an intuition that can apprehend
you in the universe. When I am naught,
a music flows through me, is written out
by the quick stars that wander the night sky.
Again she rises, brings with her a dawn
that makes our private candles obsolete,
a dawn of nameless love which is for all.
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