From where did the water begin,
and at what point
did we forget we are all of that same birth?
From what love in which we reveled
did we find all impermanent things are its tidal children,
though our rises and falls are without its dignity...
From which old song or story did you and I imagine
all dead men are simply rocks under high tide?

I could remain out here all my life.
knowing my handwriting is my own
and believing in your potential to love me.