M: A poem

Without you I am always facing northeast

Just past that building, there

Some silvery strand arcing

Between you and me

And I itch to say, Do you see it?

If only to hear a nervous No from strangers

One hundred years ago, two hundred even

Without buildings and a crossed sky

Without the excuse of immediacy

It would make little difference

Here is my plastic key, I'd say

And place it in my pocket, still warm

I saw you once, beyond the arc

Up close, and I knew

Without you I am everything I should be

Without you I will laugh

Some poison making me laugh, drunk

On the crossword puzzle of poetry

Two hundred years ago, maybe three

We would meet in a darker alley

A darker time, perhaps

Though not necessarily

We would grin

Our guilty left hands shining in the dark

I can still see you

Some green aura in the way, then

You, not in the way, a heady scent

Another grin

A palm

Wires on my fingertips

Here is the church

Here is the steeple

Open the door, and

There is you

Still, there is you

And, later still, there is you

An envelope, with no particular scent

A phone call, caller identified

Give me the name, please

I already know it

But just give it

Because I want to make sure

Three hundred years ago, maybe four

Our shoulders brush

I shake your hand

And there is no plastic

No grin, no phone, no wires

But still some dark alley

How long before I can't see beyond the arc

Before I stop singing a song

About a boy with pen and paper

About another boy with even less

How long before I leave that alley

And walk into the door just off the side