Silently if, out of not knowable
night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess
(only which is this world) more of my life does
not leap than with the mystery your smile.
Sings or if (spiraling as luminous
they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,
less into heaven certainly earth swims
than each my deeper death becomes your kiss.
Losing through you what seemed myself, I find
selves unimaginably mine; Beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears.
Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
Yours is the darkness of my soul’s return
– You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.
(- e.e cummings)