In time as eyes

It is not the gift that is given, it is the intimacies that arise in re-membering. The token is not the kiss. The kiss is not the word. The word is not the promise.

When the sun rises, turtles climb from the water onto a rock, and lie there steaming like ricepots. Do not be confused; they are digesting eternity.

The stars do not wrap their gifts. It is the intimacy, not merely the light upon the living waters. Inside the turtles, lovers kiss, and dreamers take wing.

It is completely impossible. The promise is the intimacy. Directly. Among all these incredible ways.