I do not know what it is

I get the feeling
And this is because I think too much
Maybe
That I say too much
Write too much of the wrong things
That my words are too many images
And you've said
Sometimes
Just that
That my mouth makes too many images
And it's because
I am so unable to do the math
The math that so many others do
The careful calculus of the clear

I'm a slave to this
It must be so
Perhaps
There can be no vindication
And that in all truth no solution
That I might never grow
That I might never need to
And
In truth
Perhaps
This shape I'm in
Is as well as I'll ever get

I see that your secret garden is filled with rage
And that the marks you make render your unspeakable
And that you are Chocolate and I am cheese
That one of us is earth and that one of us is water
And that together we can make life
Diving in from one
And finding safety upon the other

And again
I feel that I've said too much already
So I revert to something outside
And point as one does in distraction
Towards the million other suns
Invisible as they are
Out there
As Whitman said
'I do not know what it is but grand,
And that…
It is happiness.'