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
permanence, 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.