The sound of one hand clapping
The scream of a broken ...

At one with a moonbeam,
The light of a star,
Blended with the dawn,
And birthed with the opening
Of a flower.

Only telltale frozen breaths
Separate them from
The still, winter black boles
Of ancient leafless trees.

The pony, blown and lame,
Stands with lowered head,
Ears flattened to the sound
Of a distant wolfpack.

The man on his back,
All weapons lost,
Ignores the trickling blood
From savage wounds ...

I watched you stalk a butterfly ...

Answer:

This is possible, as telepathy ...