.....


if being mortised with a dream
myself speaks

( whispering,
suggesting that our souls
inhabit whatever is between them)
knowing my lips hands the way i move
my habits laughter

i say
you will perhaps pardon,
possibly you will comprehend, and how
this has arrived your mind may guess

if a sunset

it should, leaning against me, smile;
or (between dawn and twilight) giving

your eyes, present me also
with the terror of shrines

which noone has suspected(but
wherein silently
always
are kneeling the various deaths
which are your lover lady) together with what keen
innumerable lives he has not lived. ( E.E.Cummings, complete poems)