In (alone) I sit—As much of me is—
Is incomplete.
Nobody knows—
Ever comments on
A poem
Never seen—
And it’s alone,
As much as words
Of me
May be.

Complete? Ask it—
When it shows
A form to you.
When—you know—
As much as words
Of you may be.
Or you’ll never
Sit alone—and
Understand. Who
But God may
Cease both
Whispering alone
And Silence?

Among and
Becoming
One of these—
Though without
The spirit of
Sameness that joins
Any group lacking
faith
Or The Faith.
Complete? These are
Not—these will always
Be “other”—not the
“same” in words
Or on the winds
Of God’s Whispering.