Poem 33

a year old poem for D

Radio waves and coiling wires
Airplane tickets and balding tires
These are the things that fill the spaces
That come between our waning faces

I have a map of this land aging
Left behind, from prior staging. 
Getting me from here to there
Took more than a passing care.

Believe me I can see the distance
And for a moment muse the instance
Where all the cities scrunch together
And we could touch the end. However…

No scissors or sharpened blades, 
Could cut the way the land cascades.
When I am here… and you are there. 
And I can feel you everywhere.


Poem 33 EditedPoem 33 Revised

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