I can't explain it into words
as I can't carve a tree into existence
I can't make the tidal beach
into a script of the moment
you, of yourself, have to have
the eyes of the maker for that
I can't be the capture of your mind's eye
you, in your inner wisdom,
can only embrace it
as the wisdom of your being
I can't be the light you shine upon me
you, realizing our oneness
are the maker of that dream
but I can be
of the us of our making
the joy of our unfolding
mirror to your soul
I can be inwardly
more than the space around you can offer
I can be a slipstream of invitation
a canyon without echo to your thoughts
a forest of nearness to your feelings
a residence of closeness without crowding
a sentence structure to your verbiage
we can appear to others as friendship
but deep down within
we privately know of each other
as Siamese of soul . . .
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