Maybe, to listen:
Eyes, hands,
A mouth, dripping with
Salt,
The taste of your patient breath,
To be heard.
The moon will one day know the ground
As it spins, closer;
I, too
Will dissolve,
Dust to you.
Move now,
The body takes you
To dim lights,
Hum,
Low din.
Will we find
Jeweled rinds and linens,
Winston air,
Like a choir of
“Home”
At last?
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 