But still, still...

.........In stillness mystery calls,
though calling no one, being simply there,
somewhere I cannot tell, singing, not near,
not far, but song always, an ayre that falls
on my silence as if heard in the long halls
of eternity, of existence, this that I hear
in the incomprehensibility we share
and cannot speak, a touch, a glance that forestalls
the foreignness we felt before we came
into our knowing one another, yet no touch
nor glance in fact, nothing definable, no name
in materiality, only this singing, such
that together silently we hear and we belong
at last,
......always this sonetto, this little song...

--from Sonnets, No. 63; Hayden Carruth

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