What fortune - the fact that you are!



An accident of my existence, and then,

the happiness within becomes stronger than me,

than my bones, which you crush in a hug,

always painful, wonderful always.




Lets talk, lets converse, utter long, vitrified words,

like chisels disjoining cold river from blistery delta,

the day from the night,

basalt from basalt.




Take me, happiness, upward,

and smash my temple onto the stars!

until my world, protracted and endless

becomes a column, or some other thing,

more tall and more soon.



What fortune it is that you are!

What wonder it is that I am!



Two distinct songs, slamming, entangling,

two colors that never before saw one another,

the first from the very beneath, the other - the highest of high,

almost broken, in the shivering, singular fight

of the marvelous fact that you are,

of the absolute chance that I am.