In this early hour, when the Sun is still shy and hiding behind the horizon,
Presaging its appearance with the gray lightening of the low sky,
Like a frightened child whistling away the monsters as he walks alone at night,
Why is it that you appear?
Your piercing and careful gaze;
Your laughter, at first uneasy, and then generous;
Your strange turns of phrase;
Your eager and hungry mind;
Your voice, though I never heard it sing.
Face and form. Do mine appear also to you?
Los Angeles, 22 January, 2012