Have I seen you in the mist;
was that you that rustled the leaves
turning summer colors to fall along
the byways of my life?
Were you the silent listener
when I hardly breathed, drifted from
dream to fancy and back to reality;
too tired to touch and paint skies by night
or brush star-crossed nebulae by day?
Shall I turn to you when I need
a friend or fear that I am lost
without space, needing to know
someone to hold onto, a universe
or a star-galaxy, my Milky Way or …
Just when I was thinking:
only I am me, and that only
you are you, the truth was that
we are we — you and me;
occupiers of the misty leaves, the
colors, clouds and rainbows …
Copyright 2012 by Ron Kule. All Rights Reserved.