The dialogue is love. It saturates every fiber of The soul. It intoxicates the spirit. Thus, evermore I dwell at its tavern. I sip from its heavenly goblet, Thereby, dancing in the spirit. It’s the stimulus of Miracles—the parent of eternity. From depth the Soul, I’ve courted love, inscribing its portrait Upon spiritual leaflets. I’ve partaken of its doctrine, Inebriated in the spirit, adrift the seventh heaven. Love is an invasion, permeating the psyche, Surging through the actuating-cause. I burn for the Face of love: its depth, its width, its episode. It’s Ever upon my imagination, as sturdy as oak, Intriguing my passions come sunrise. Indeed, the Dialogue is love: its reach, its breadth, its texture.