The Elevation

The moon floats high
above my bed where dusty
footprints write new direction
upon an ancient history,
suspended overlapping tracings,
bright reflected signposts to
an unreal imagined future;
and by this lofty path I
follow without hesitation
to my friend,
who cannot live with me;
to my lover,
who will not touch with me;
to my companion,
who must remain alone.
Like me she pushes her
ideas through her days,
dreamy thoughtscapes bright
with new successes,
old fears dogging the
traces of determination.
And which of these shall rise
to feel the hard surface
of personal truth?
And which of these shall see
the bright-imagined real,
all rising up and out and
flooding what we are into
what we are becoming?
And which of these shall be legacy,
our own indelible etchings
upon the surface of a
shifting chaotic cosmos?
I fail to see coherently
the me without the we,
seeking through wonder
all the things
I knew were true
because of you.
There I locate rare affection,
undamaged by circumstance,
uneroded by mistakes,
undiluted by thinking,
the fellowsoul of my
other self, the one that
elsewhere cannot be
but for us.
So long as breath endures,
its movement shall persist
in tandem with your own.