The world we know can not be all there is.
There’s more between us than we know,
and things unseen are hunting us
in sleep, even in space they are, so there.
I dream so nicely of you and your love;
this, while you do not care at all.
To me, you live in unseen, gentle tremblings
and I think much of you, unseen.
But do my tremblings and my thoughts,
however gentle, somehow make it to your heart?
I would not know, my science ends
in fragile words and clumsy speculations.