If my words were transparent
would you look through them
and find my heart beating
behind them like a moth?
I have no feathers with which to gesture
only fingers singed with an excess
of atmosphere and expectancy.
If I knew how to cross from one
constellation to the next
would I find between us
a habitable moon
or would I find only the detritus
of my own intractable percussion?
I gather my hands, my lawless grin,
my extraneous attempts at conversation
and slide back into the ether.
When I dream you are always near.