What Must Be

IT CANNOT BE The need to touch you resounds against my closed window like a raven, with wings that pound to enter the real world...I know it must be. The need to see you perches soft on my quilted cover like a bird hovering gently...waiting aloft to enter sight...I know it must be. Two worlds upon the edge of time...perched... dense distance between us...steady we stand in the eye of the storm...we have searched through darkness...come, take my hand? I must see you...I must touch your hair and feel your hand upon my face... I must know you are really there and close the door to time and space. It cannot be. Patricia Langston-Moran