You see the universe, as I see daylight,
opening to your heart
like fingers of a little child uncurling.
It lies to you no more than wood to blade,
nor will you tell me lies.
Only fools or cowards lie. And you are neither.
Not that I comprehend You, who are simpler
than all our words about you,
and deeper. They drop around you like dead leaves.
Yet I can trust you. You resembling me—
two eyes, two hands, two feet,
fives senses and no more—will cup my being,
spilling toward nothingness, within your palm.
And when the last bridge breaks,
I shall walk on the bright span of your breath.
