Well Read

You sit there reading a book;
I sit here reading you.
You close it, rise, look far away;
I see the dawning of new day.
Then to the window soft you go
And spread the curtains wide;
You’re gazing far, across the bay,
In quiet, solemn pride.
You pull the window, open it,
Salt air comes rushing, free;
Your hair flows back, in love with it,
As I with all I see.
A seagull cries, and wheels round,
And you, your arms wave out.
The sun is red, for you is bound,
Of that there is no doubt.
The room’s a shrine, gold you a-glow—
A loving flame of will.
And I am lit with what I know,
That you will—go—here—still.
You stand there reading the world;
I sit here reading you.

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