Deeper than
permissible

but never
not possible.

Nothing at all
never said

never even
produced.

Another
on his mind.

Sweetheart,
let me hold

you alone
as if the world

will never be
anything else.

But to have
the words

the texture of
words

in his mind
the leaves, trees

the pure mountain
in his pure room.

He had written the
fog as it billowed

before everything
made it new

free from
dreams and

exalted surges.
I feel I am truly a

great man.
I have been asleep.