Which would make a nice title for a poem, I think. Anyway, here is an example: How shall I hold my soul so it does not touch on yours. How shall I lift it over you to other things? Ah, willingly I’d store it away with some lost thing in the dark, in some strange still place, that does not tremble when your depths tremble. But all that touches us, you and me, takes us, together, like the stroke of a bow, that draws one chord out of the two strings. On what instrument are we strung? And what artist has us in her hand? O sweet song.