how near -
in patterns of rhythmic verse
span of breath, ardor of kiss
attrition of a marble staircase
treads bent to tales of journey.
How many travelers have felt
roughness of an artisan’s hand
as he placed each step with tenderness?
Who has let their thoughts linger
caressed iron rails or slipped against
each groove and notch of stone
leaned into cold walls alive with history
until they penetrate the corporeal?
If your life should mean a thing
- if my life should mean a thing
Dear Heart - let it be this.
Diminish distance even as it sinks
into twilight’s vapid mouth.
Midnight to midnight
it will always only be