As one day ends, another begins,
Somewhere across the world.
Somehow it seems wrong to send
Words back in time, so instead
I commit them to paper
And to the future.

Near the centre of the year,
We share several hours of daylight,
As the Sun warms us both.

(This could be a haiku, but that
Would never be enough:
She is infinitely more than
Seventeen silly syllables.)

Perhaps that is why I think of
Her now: for once, it feels
As though we are actually in
The same world, and that I have
Not merely been dreaming her
All these long years.

When, finally, the asymptotes of
Our lives intersect, will it be
Like when we talk: as if
No time has passed?

I feel nervous at the thought,
And yet totally comfortable.
There might be first date laughter;
There might be distant family silences;
But they will be our laughter,
Our silences, and the sound
(Or lack thereof) will be
Irrelevant before the sharing.

06/22/2015

Posted on 07/20/2015
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