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and you may be a distant star
or shine by reflected light, though
that is not in your nature, and
your tired light does not reach me (but
still I feel your stern gravity pull,
as when opposite ends of a taut length
of chain go) or warm my hands
A tangled and complete web ties us
to each other, though our movements only
make themselves evident
in mean and clandestine ways
What does it matter, though, if that
is the only way (should the ends meet,
will the universe end in a clap?) that
two minds will see each other,
as over the top of a candle,
two days of a myriad you never saw?

You are perfect, out of sight,
out of mind, out of body, out of touch

© 1996 byron elbows/Brian Tung