Most often of late
We connect with
Words that bounce
Off the stars,
Flung in haste across
The universe in an effort
To complete the list,
Or collect the most.
Standing in the chill
Breeze where we
Stood as children
Makes those words
More trite.
I watch your eyes
As we talk,
Seeing our shared history
Come to life from a
Perspective tangential
To mine,
A sometimes weaving
Line of intersection
And tangles.
Sharing real time
Always lessens the
Cleft created by
Distance,
And I feel whole
Again.
Categories: Poetry