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Love says, “No one meshes souls as I; Without me there are just loose strands—so love Me first,” she presses, eyeing me and you. I lay myself then on her lap of love, Even as I’m stretching toward you; I Soon find myself, perforce, abreast with you. Next, you wrap around me, sidelining Love; Yet in so clasping me, it happens you Alight upon her right, just as had I. Let nothing come between my Love and you— Not even I; she knots us closer! Love Shows up the symmetry of you and I, And yet I’m drawn to her, and thus to you Again, now, from a different view. Still, I Cannot escape our common thread—this Love— And neither can you; ever-freshly I Await your sweet return—you, only you, And yet you do not come except for Love. She moves again: I know there is no I, No you; there’s only she, full center—Love Enjoining me to seek her joy in you.
[CA] Today I know that life is but a dream, For how else could a moment ages past Arise now on the surface of this stream Of being, sliding freely in its churn? Before, rash memories swirled up, eddying fast Against the current’s flow; now hours return To present tense unrippling, it would seem. Yet fiction glints off this which I might deem Pure fact. Forthwith, it blurs and slides away With shoreline forests slipping past the hull Of this stern oarsman’s boat, soon turning dull.