Sometimes it feels like
putting notes in a bottle,
our conversations, that is,
as they go line by line
that float away.
There is a distant shared sea
within each of us.
Islands of you and me
are in this deep.
All the ocean currents
strangely bring
most of these bottles
to this one shore
within you
and within me.
You pick yours up
immediately,
open and read . . .
There are salvos
between the lines.
Lights go on
in a darken room
that makes the room itself
much larger.
The walls are in
background smiles.
The sky, eavesdropping,
begs for entry.
These notes are in
an emotional code.
Time reads the fine print
to you directly.
Your blessedness
sees the whole page.
Your visual grip softens
until the notes themselves
levitate.
Eventually
the notes become pageless.
A voice rereads them,
over and over
as if sipping
from their original source.
Each swallow
makes you feel
more inspirationally at home.
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