Occurrence

It occurs to me in a different vein, Still the same blood but with something more, something less. This is what we call thought: the time of day is ever-present The day is ever-present until our present is gone We never met, you and I. We never met and it's true there's love in loss and in the loss is a space to grow something, someone, another day to find us our love, The one who will hide that we never forget what we know we have never known. This is a simple word for you all; my consorts all who now know nothing more.