I've sent you a poem; your first glimpse
of how, in that other world, I speak.
It is a life-line thrown to you, since
things have changed between us. Though I feel weak
wondering how you will be struck by this,
I'm strong with the sense of this new thing, this freak
version of me; because the poem, "Care", is
one that came in a kind of trance—
which means I don't know where it came from, or how
it moved itself from thought to thought, sequenced
without help of logic. All I did was allow
it. Yet it says what I know I want
to say to you: love's a specter which haunts
the living back to life. You see, the peak
of it is not in the couplet ending,
the rhyme, the period; but in the sending.