You wander like the air between the leaves
or light that plays on the revealed bayou.
I know of nothing other than you.
I have observed a plethora of things,
the shells a rolling tide faithfully brings,
yet I have found no definitive proof.
You are somewhere beyond the mindful roof
of the world, beyond the collected data
or theorems on the behavior of matter.
You're not something my mind can wrap around,
a text, despite my learning, I have found
an incomprehensible scribble. But I leap
into your void to dream of infinite sleep.
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