Beloved, I've found you here amongst the shelves,
the channels and the stations of the mind,
among the numbered archives that populate
your sacred and ridiculous being. Beloved,
you're in the words I say, the ways I feel,
even within the water that I am drinking
which falls from the sky. Beloved, you contain
multitudes, leagues, indefinite geometries
of becoming. But you can't disclose to me
the depth of your truth, the reach of your beauty
about the globe in blank verse repetitions
of sound and syllable. Beloved, the music
of love moves trees and birds, it moves the stars
through separation into a glorious unity.
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