678 B
678 B
It is two hundred miles between what I expect and what I want.
Two hundred long strides that seem impassible from one direction,
and from the other a day's short drive.
It is nine and a half hours between question and answer. A half hour of jazz, nine hours of sleep, a scant second of perspective, and I can only traverse in one direction
It is eleven inches between who I was and who I am. Ten of those inches are pain, the eleventh is numb, There's pleasure to be had in there, I'm promised.
It is twelve years between what I want and what I get: Ten years of remembering who I will become, two years running, Eight days dreaming.