here, on our way
to nowhere in
particular
we speak of
what could be,
of heads pressed
close
in laughter and
breath
prayers laid bare
and the pause of
space
between us as we
reach
for one another
missing, fingers
laced
we let the air
bear
the full of
unspoken words
weight of yearn
leak into seats
behind
the driver’s chair
there are no
middle
in front seats of
cars
anymore
you hold the wheel
direct our hearts
manage the
blanks between us
we are old now,
missing is a part
of life
like missing
middle front seats
or six-year-old
grins punctuated
with space where
teeth
once stood, we have
missing things too
that may, or may
not,
return
© Valerie
Bridgeman
February 25, 2013
(The poem that was
embedded in “I Have Come to Love You” and “I Have Come to Love You II”)
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