hands

hasn't she yet seen forms
of our patience holding
the drift of dreams? will
this message deliver her

peering ever more closely
at shades of us waiting?
were she near enough again
she'd murmur like magic,
chemistry, or any choice
inspired expansive imagery
from trackless memory, paced

i wait, she waits, one knowing
the paths i haven't traced
in her mind without touch
could move her like fate
had hands like mine.