It Exactly Poem by Stephen Bennett The Playjurist

You're finally ready to speak,
but the one doing
all the talking is me,
but I've gotten myself lost,
having forgotten what I was
trying to say...

So you help me
because of the thing in your head
waiting to be spoken
and you're imagine it starting
to think itself out there
in other minds, who knows how far away.

or how long it can go on?
maybe Longer than either of us go?
How can we know? It might never end.
Some alien out in infinity... could find it,
translate it up and wonder, 'whoosh!
Who was this guy? '

And for this, you say back
everything I said,
to get me to where I was,
so I can end, and you can begin.
You ask me, 'Was it this? ' 'No.'
'This? ' 'No.' 'This? '
and 'That's it! That's it! '

And everything snaps in,
and we own it... not just
what we were thinking, but everything...
there, where we were going and where
it all came from... all the way back
from the big bang on up
to the birth, death and the rising up
of our Lord
on out to where my mind began.
Look. There it is, where I was, and where
I was trying to go,
and look! there's your thought...
right there ready to go.

That connection that brought me back in
so I could finish and you could start.
In that turning, where one steps
into the new thought or idea...
is the center of everything
and that's it. You know that's it exactly.
That's what I'm talking about.