The distance

It is a blow to realise,
as a lover of words,
that talk can only accomplish
so much.

Were I to touch the infinite
crevices between the stars
and leap the dream-deep spaces
between waking
and childless sleep,

I would be no closer
to clarity.

I could wade the swollen river
while gnats frenzy the air
and the moon makes
the earth dizzy with his
deceiving proximity,

and I would have gained
no ground.

You could be right here
now,

in the doorway,
jeans and open pores,
weather and silence,

a moment the depth
of a year,

and still I would conclude
that nothing is as wide
nor as impassable

as the distance
from my mouth
to your ear.

 

 

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