That we might be folded together like napkins in a drawer.
That midnight might find us close, night after night.
That we might breathe as one, and yet be two.
That time might be our bond, just as the river is bound to the valley.
Yes, like the river and the valley.
Valley sky. Like a steel sword, silver.
Valley floor. Like a tilled field, rich soil.
Valley man. I haunt the creeks and woods.
Valley poems. Words that grow like sunflowers.
And I am here for the harvest.