Fumbling

Heart thumping in my fumbling body young

To make good sense of things to come

May be one hardship unanswerable by tongue.

The search has stopped that once yearned for remedies

For the distance between his eyes and mine.

That great expanse, draped with strings of memories,

That with love and longing do intertwine.

Clocks will tick.

The dust will settle around us

The air will thicken with the stuff

Until I am a smudge in his line of sight

And that will be enough.