I whisper the hope and coming of existing.
I twist the pages of this book I am reading.
Its lines are filled with in-between distances,
on-and-off realities, yes-and-no seeking prayers.

And there on the pages I discover

the freshness I have been with you.

We are new and old, on and off, yes and no.

Beating hearts that flow in allusions of truth.

I whisper the hope and coming of existing.
I twist the pages of this book I am reading.
Its lines filled with in-between distances,
on-and-off realities, yes-and-no seeking prayers.

Without regard for selfish yearnings,
I drink of the sea of possibilities.

And I will hold you. Strong and confident
in my arms. Gentle and brittle in my
benediction of love.

Resurrection of manhood.

Resurrection of self.

I whisper the hope and coming of existing.
I twist the pages of this book I am reading.
Its lines filled with in-between distances,
on-and-off realities, yes-and-no seeking prayers.

This voice sings no song for us.

Instead it speaks of me and you, you and me.

Us.

It has been a century or more since
I have splashed in that clarity of being.

I whisper the hope and coming of existing. 
I twist the pages of this book I am reading.
Its lines filled with in-between distances,
on-and-off realities, yes-and-no seeking prayers.