To say I know you
like the river that braids into the crevase of the canyon,
like a smile or a squint that flows across the familiar places of your face,
like all the things that become firm while they live,
untill the vast ages of the universe make them vapor.
Between that, there is the river
that can say I know you to the supple flesh
of the canyon, sinking in, with no mind
to what other course it could have taken;
Only that it is folded so perfectly to the walls of its banks
that we cannot ask either which caused the other.
We caused each other, they would say.
We have lived together for so long
that we cannot remember how we met,
or that there had been a time when we had not.
Did the bees cause the beauty and nectar of the flowers,
or did the flowers find their splendor alone?
Neither, they would say.
They are togeather themselves by each other's presence.