not like the rush of a swollen river

not like the sun as it gasps at sunset

not like the moon and its loneliness

not like that

like the fragrance of mountain mist

like the cover of darkness under a new moon

blinding, but not blind

quiet, but not silent, colorful

and yet unseen

without the pretexts of love

without the arrogance of need

without the blindness

of expectation

like warm rain drops in summer

like sweet song of canaries in spring

like fire, incomprehensible

like that