A grin as wide as the ocean, his lips the smooth ribbons in waves as the sun undergoes a setting.
A dance with words in greeting, the effortless lack of cumbersome voids
but in them our dancing shapes and laughter.
An embrace embodying our unity in which we have become a foreign groove;
the orchestrated melody in which minds cannot comprehend how to move to.
We, in our own, a language no one else understands.
And if in our foolishness the world around us falls into shambles, I know ours won’t.
But he is only the faint wisp of an echo in the mountains, the mere illusion of an oasis, the waterfall in the far woods under a bright white sky, twigs and leaves interrupting a brook, the last firefly alight in a jar,
the fluttering words on the breath of two seekers.