Proximity (a poem)

If I were single or coupled

(instead of neither and both),

I would sketch your hand,

X-Ray your femur —

do something I

could only do

from this far and

this near.

I would write your name

in indelible ink

above your

temporary address.

I would turn

the calendar page,

and every single time,

the numbered boxes

would be footholds

instead of

quicksand.