The Beloved


It is the smoothing out of the path that lies before me.

It is the complete rearrangement of my structure.

It is my being set free.
It is my complete capture.

It is fullness.
It is fulfillment.

It is the heart of quietness,
and the hand of eternity.

It is the movement of life itself;
the opening of what seemed to be the end.

It is the beginning that occurs every second.

It is wonderment
and amazement;
a child’s first roller-coaster ride.

It is the leaf floating on the still water.

It is the weaving together of strands
that once roved apart.

It is owning,
and being owned.

It is the flatness of mountains,
and the reaching to the sky of deserts.

It is the question
with an answer
that no one knows but me.

It is a poem
that wraps around me,
with attempts at description
that has no words.

It is a face,
and feet.

It is a nod of a acknowledgement, 
barely perceptible.

It is the whole night,
enveloping the day,
and laughing in the doing so.

It is mine.

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