my darling since
you and
i are thoroughly haunted by
what neither is
any echo of dream nor
any flowering of any
echo(but the echo
of the flower of
Dreaming)somewhere behind us
always trying(or sometimes trying under
us) to is
it find somehow(but O gracefully)a
we,entirely whose least
breathing may surprise
ourselves
—let’s then
despise what is not courage my
darling(for only Nobody knows
where truth grows
why birds fly and
especially who the moon is.
my darling since by e. e. cummings, in Complete Poems (1904 - 1962)