At distance

As far as it may be
is the range of a darting blindfold attachment. I see
a racing point of light: but it is neither
you nor me, nor you-and-me together.
It is not-us. Only a future pairing
is glimpsed for now, in an impossible sharing.

And yet it is. An erratic pulse of light
reflects us here, darts in and out of sight,
and is not. So we sense, in flickering rhyme,
ourselves-to-be, the other side of Time,
a twoness that’s at one, synonymous
with now. And still it is a future us,
blind to itself, yet seen so strong at times,
a beating pulse (as in the chimes of rhymes)
insists – a oneness is worth thinking of.

We two are entangled particles, my love,
at odds, at one, at distance and at ease
together. Will a fitful night-light seize
the day? Is it too soon to talk of “love”?
For now then let a tracking-signal rove . . .
and should the time come, we may hope to see
together and apart, a unity
as far as it may be.

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