We missed one another by a week.
A hair’s breadth in this universe.
Our young bodies must have been aware of one another though,
when our mother held you close, as only a mother can.
Felt each other through our mother’s skin
under which I was warmly cocooned.
I feel as though we met.
I often imagine you close.
Wonder if you’d like me. Whether we’d argue.
You are distant in that bitter, dank necropolis,
deep down in your lonely bed.
No, I will never find you there.
My imagined memory of you,
My fantasy you, arrives unwarranted.
When a perfect note makes those fine hairs on my arms bristle,
When a strangers act of kindness gives me the faith I crave.
That is when I find you.
I find you when it matters.