A friendship like ours,
ebbing and flowing with
the passage of time,
punctuated with the spark
of an occasional meeting
here or there- between
abroad and home-

is a bit like two
ships passing in the night.
At least, that’s what
Henry Wadsworth might’ve said.
But I think he might be
right, judging by the
perpetual contact-

but lack of tangible
“hereness” that pervades as
we slip in and out of borders,
magnetically attracting one
another like the SMS signals
of our phones-

contact exists, but
it’s unreal, etherial,
like the touching of dreams
which meet for a moment
and dissipate once one
brushes the other.

Could we but know
what befell the ships
once dawn illuminated the
sea, we might but find
a way for our ships to crash
and shipwreck us on the shore

on an island- together.

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