For Most

For most in my thought,
in my thought-stream’s
little splashes,

no pads of semi-permanence lie
in wait,
afloat.

For most in my dream’s
life, in my went years
seen scaling up skies, I

have not substance to match
with wavering
image.

For you,

on one end of love’s
radii-firmament, of physics
and company
burrowing through

the heart-set sense
of reconciliatory
understanding,

for you

what I have
is yours alone, except
when mine

and still
in the original.