Written by: Deborah Simpson

It’s like walking through
The ice chips of
A sun fire –

It’s like standing atop
The falling rain of
A lonely sea –

It’s like sleeping amidst
The misty shroud of
A day moon –

Similar to crouching
In between cloudless
Rays of white –

Identical to clutching
The solid pebbles
Of spitting air –

The distance that
Lingers between
You and I –