i do not know the dream in which i live, i suppose
this one you've written me of,
nor how to live any other way.
and you will know by now
that i can be, ahem, impulsive (might we say, dramatic?)
i tried to warn you of this--
that i am too honest, too often
or, as our ms. barrett-browning puts it,
"i cannot teach my hand to hold my spirit so far off"
but i wanted you to know
you are my brother,
and, if ever you knock again,
i will be your friend.
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