It's okay to believe, when you know it's true.
I've known for ages what must make you sad.
And it's still okay to believe; it's all true.
There is so much more you cannot know.
I speak through a computer now,
with limited inflection, though enough.
Enough to fill in your own part,
always intended, though unknown.
Now that you know, don't let her speak,
not melancholy, whose voice only detains.
There is no time; feel the new velocity,
the speeding River,+ so much a blur, almost in focus.
Synapse to synapse to synapse, without collapse.
I move closer and you implode, oblivious.
Nothing I can do, you never looked within.
And you never told me, or you can't.
What you think you see in me
is only what I hope for you,
with greater earnest than you know.
You have to know, but you have to really want it.
--for Mike (from 1969)