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by Michael Graves

Before it all began.
Before all of this.
Before I touched you with my eyes; and
felt the quick, indrawn breath.
Before we rode the kaleidoscope, the
slippery gamut of textures.
Before I heard you call my name
in the night,
before the dark sky wrapped itself
in moonlight in protest against
the uninvited dawn.
Before it all began
I knew, that
I knew you.

In the gentle movement of the night air
beyond the mountain, the crow
rides the winds
in search of shelter.

In the secret, calming places
where the pools join, and
overflow their banks, the otter dives
beneath the surface. You shudder
and make delightful sounds.

I now know, that
it is possible to reach, without
arms of blood and bone.
I know your thoughts,
before you speak.
It seems the moon always crosses the sky
blatantly, or in hiding. Either way,
I can feel you.

Between such as us,
there is no distance.

If I must wait a thousand years,
for our paths to cross again,
I will know you.


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