This Morning the Other Knows Best

This morning, of all mornings, I've been feeling like the others.
Not the ones who look like themselves, which is, after all,
What they look like.
But the others who look like each other, those all walking around
Being the other they walk around like, each one with a face
That could only be that face.
Surely you've seen the one who could as well be the other one,
Who could just as well be you; I've been feeling like that one.
Surely you've seen the smile, and the shy nod in passing,
In going somewhere else, which is always where the others go,
Which could always be where you go; I've been smiling as I go.
This morning I have this feeling, and if I don't, that's even better.
It's time we felt like each other, which is, after all, what we are.
The air we breathe has arrived, there is nothing left worth waiting for.
Our lungs can be filled with the others, who finally have nothing left.
One chest sighs like the next one, but the next one's sigh
Is better; whoever's sigh
Is the next one, that chest breathes with the best.
The hands we need are at hand. Rest yours on my shoulder.
The hands we rest on each other are that much better than the rest.
One face nods to the next one, with the knowing smile
Of a master; each face bows
To the master, because this morning the other knows best.
This morning the last comes first, and what comes next is better.
This morning, being just like the others, is that much better than the rest.
Surely our time has come, and if it hasn't, what could be nicer:
This morning, being just what it isn't, is that much better than what it is.

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