distance

they say we forgot how to notice each other
that somewhere between leaving and arriving
we became too hurried for the old gestures

i don’t believe them any more

this morning
someone held a door for someone they didn’t know
and somehow

i thought of you

perhaps distance
teaches us where to look

the small kindnesses that cross between strangers
without asking where they are going

a hand resting briefly on another arm
someone moving closer so another can pass

the glance that lasts half a second longer
than either person intended

i wonder how many of these reach you

whether somewhere in your day
a stranger smiles as you pass
and something in you lifts
before you remember i am not there

there are evenings
when the light stays longer at my window
than it has any reason to

i sometimes leave the curtains open
as though the same light
might eventually find you

perhaps that is foolish

but then
we have always trusted impossible things

your voice crossing an ocean
and arriving beside me

my hand remembering the shape of yours
without having held it for months

the particular way you say my name
still finding somewhere to land

perhaps what passes between strangers
carries more than they know

maybe waiting in doorways
sometimes passing between strangers
travelling quietly through ordinary days

perhaps we never stopped noticing

perhaps we only stopped believing
that the smallest things
could travel this far

tonight
when you turn toward your window
stay there for the smallest moment

i may already be looking
at the same darkness

and somewhere between us

something
noticed

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Something more poetry from me?

or maybe an essay on what happens before any words are written

Nothing truly leaves — it only changes how it stays.

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All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery