Sifting through shadows,
the phantom touch
of what could be,
you yearn for the intertwined fingers,
the rhythm of two souls,
marching in tandem.
But there is this dance,
that is an ancient truth,
if it starts within.
Are you joined in warmth,
or just chasing illusions?
Tethered to presence,
or drifting in dreams?
Can’t walk hand in hand,
if you aren’t walking hand in hand.
Thirty thousand sunrises,
give or take a few thousand sunsets,
the average span
of a human dream,
each with its own ache,
its own wonder.
Whose steps trail yours?
Whose whispers do you hear?
Chosen partner,
or the shadow you cast alone?
This trip,
this never-ending scroll
of awe and unknown,
we name it life.
And you,
at the helm or riding shotgun,
have your compass
in the palm of your hand.
How do you reach out?
On what wavelength
does your heart send?
