No intellect denies that you are, but no one gives in completely to that. This is not a place where you are not, yet not a place where you are seen. One day you will take me completely out of my self, I’ll do what the angels cannot do. Your eyelash will write on my cheek the poem that hasn’t been thought of. Inside water, a waterwheel turns. A star circulates with the moon. We live in the night ocean wondering, What are these lights? From the wet source someone cuts a reed to make a flute. The reed sips breath like wine, sips more, practicing. Now drunk, it starts the high clear notes.