The way things are. The way they are not.
Simply gliding in stride the falling this far.
The reaching and touching dream’s reality
Basking beautifully under a bristling star.
The lost ones. The found ones embracing,
Elatedly sighing in twilight’s touch not forgot.
That each moment in parting, pleasing, or passing
Amassing to end not with why but why not.
They are and they aren’t. The having and holding,
Filling spaces and gaps unknown that time wrought.
And each as one to cast all labels and pretense aside,
Immersing completely in what can never be bought.