How do I know, when silent emptiness
is all I meet, that I’m not talking to
myself, just trying vainly to impress
the void? In short, how do I know there’s You?
Lovers when kept apart send cards and gifts,
spend costly hours on the telephone,
will run together by all risks, all shifts —
will You? Or can You? Or am I alone
like Earth among the planets, sending out
my frantic signal, seeking a reply
from wiser, older worlds? How quench the doubt
that You may not be You but only I?
How can I know You love unless You pour
out miracles? How can I not crave more?