All that is below me,
Everything ephemeral I notice and feel,
The fog, accident, electricity,
Cheerful conversations, music, a good meal—
The picture which combines a human with an animal face,
Neither one real, and even less real the hybrid which takes its place—
All that lives below the soul of my highest thought,
Things which in my highest examination and love are caught,
In my absent-minded mood for the pleasure I might derive
In all that finally proves nothing; in a bad mood I watch them go,
For they are neither consistent, nor lasting, and only seem to be alive.
I must learn to say goodbye to them—my knowledge is how I know they go—
All that is below me is nothing. So, easily, the physical you I adore.
I love you deeply and love you more
Than all the thoughts and things which live below
Think I can. I am what tomorrow I will think. You are everything I know
And believe and taste and notice and feel
In the forest of these shadows which love me, but are not real.