I knew something once, it was a small thing, a steady thing
I knew that I was home,
that in those binds and burdens, I was, alas, not alone.

There was ground beneath my drudging feet that would not move
There was music in the air to which my ears had grown deaf,
but it was there in the breathing non the less.

In the night, stirring sounds were but your turning to and fro
and in the morning, lover's quarrels staving off your absence from the bed.
I would not relent, and you had learned to love the giving in.

You and I, us; and then there was all the world and all the rest.
This was the great and true divide by which all things were split.
There was all else, apart, aside; and then you and I, my head upon your breast.

But that is what I knew once upon a time.
Now I know nothing.