If I can sense that I exist,
Then here’s the thought I can’t resist:
How could I ever truly see
If you exist apart from me?

For if the you can’t feel the I,
Then who is real, and who’s a lie?
And if I’m all who truly knows—
Am I alone, or just suppose?

What if the I is where you’re not,
A vacant point, a silent spot?
And all we are is thought and dream,
Reflections in a shifting stream.

Am I the seer of what I find,
The silent voice inside the mind?
The hush that gives me all that is,
The space between, the pause, the kiss?

And if that’s me, though now unclear,
In time, I’ll surely reappear
In that one place—however far—
Where you already are.