Counterpoint As certain as; the golden streaks of first light herald the break of dawn; and the darkening twilight shadows court the fall of night; As certain as am I; about us. But surely these things are the frightful fits of fancy of mad men whose garbled ramblings into the ether make no sense? Or love sick poets whose works are captured in lines of ink on torn pages in tattered books on dusty shelves no one bears to reach for anymore? By fate lead Tinder chance; I have felt, seen and tasted the kaleidoscoping colours of your soul; and in it I have found a truth and it will not be denied; your soul is the counterpoint; to my own. To tragically betray this fragile truth would be to abandon my very essence, as a child would carelessly toss a tiny white paper plane down a well, in a downward twisting spiral; gradually fading from sight into the imposing emptiness and solitude of the darkness below. As certain as; the golden break of dawn; and the darkening fall of night; As certain as am I; about us. D.S.