Dreams in the Distance by Richard Edwards
The space between your fingers
and my body could be a thousand miles,
a desert where it is raining,
a river bed cracked and flaking,
the Serengeti with no animals
(all gone off to jump in the ocean).
But with my eyes closed
I could still see the swirls on the tips
of your fingers, the love lines in your palms
lengthening as they come near me,
gliding over the desert. Going over
the universe again, watching aliens invaders hold
each other, with a perfect view of the moon,
where your hands scoop lunar sands
and let it run through your fingers.
In this distance lady bugs swam us
in summer and graze on your knuckles.
I stick out my tongue at the starts.
Our mechanical clock stops.
The motions of your hands are always constant.
My eyes are always closed.