They ask me what you are to me and I cannot say,
Because of all they will read in the air. And they
ask me what I think but when I think of you
I go blank and sink into images tangible with feeling.
What you are to me is real, whole and not fragile,
Not made of glass nor yet sent to reach me out. And then
what you are becomes a pure being, a melting spirit of
Memory and music, perfection and star brightness in human form.
What you are is wish and answer, a hope that is alive and
beautifully terrible, vivid cool fire with an angel’s face.
What you are is a walking surprise of reaching smiles,
a collection of essence, a heart with the power to touch and to move.
And I would wish to be as bright, as true as I feel
you to be, as substantial as the hand that held mine.
And I would wish to be beside you as a living shadow,
always and never there, and felt somehow forever.
by Katherine Foreman.