oh so secret

I was the feeling page of surface

where the ink of your presence

bleeds through me in signature passing.

in width and depth and saturation,

I felt for you.

you are not made of pencil, 

crayon or ball point.

you left for me 

more than just a surface point in passing.

I now know of your ink, well,

enough to say of your pressure 

and swiftness of self-signature.

it was of your left hand 

deftly leaving me.

I am a document of being

that you have signed off on.

I now return to my printed page,

staring up at your eyes, 

earlier in passage.

that I left for you an understanding

for you to intake.

your hands embraced me while reading.

you were composed.

from the pace of your sequential glancing

lead me into your mind,

way beyond what understanding registered

into the residence of how you comprehend.

for you will never know how I feel.

but we have a past history,

when you were a child

I was a backyard tree.

and we then 

were quite present 

but differently to each other.

I tried to say then

what I am saying now.

but you, of then, were carefree and young.

and now we are of a different accord 

in passing.

I now hold you in a document embrace,

as you are ever committed 

to the signed off cause.

may we meet once again

later, upon minerals to earth

as completion 

of our oh so secret 

trilogy of destiny . . .