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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
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