Love, our distance
Is like the painter’s vaunted “space,” a non-existence
That, in spite of
Our knowing it unreal, we cannot clear our sight of:
How unsee it?
For, after all, perspective is a trick, albeit
For eyes to disabuse themselves of. That corrective
Touch provides us:
For touch shows how supposititious what divides us,
Each from each, is;
And how to hand, what you still place beyond our reaches.