"No," they whispered, "that is not what
we wished to say."
They were silent, then they spoke slowly,
and their words were halting, like the words
of a child learning to speak for the first time:
"We are one . . . alone . . . and only . . .
and we love you who are one . . . alone . . . and only."
We looked into each other's eyes and we knew
that the breath of a miracle had touched us,
and fled, and left us groping vainly.
And we felt torn, torn for some word we could not find.
PART TEN
We are sitting at a table and we are
writing this upon paper made thousands
of years ago. The light is dim, and we
cannot see the Golden One, only one lock
of gold on the pillow of an ancient bed.
This is our home.
We came upon it today, at sunrise.
For many days we had been crossing a chain
of mountains. The forest rose among cliffs,
and whenever we walked out upon a
barren stretch of rock we saw great peaks
before us in the west, and to the north of us,
and to the south, as far as our eyes could see.
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