It's like a broken shard of glass,
a shattered clock face,
the way that a body can know so much
and yet nothing at all
it's the way that a hand in her own
feels so unfamiliar,
like stepping across a stage for the first time,
the way it seems as if something has changed
amid falling snow,
running water,
and endless memories grown by distance
and she doesn't wake up
even just for a day
without loving him,
just the curve of his elbow
feels all angular and jagged,
as if her hand has never rested there before
and the blue of his eyes
reflects an ocean she has never seen before,
it's all new,
where it should be familiar and comforting,
the oddity of distance,
the strangeness of growing in particular ways,
and then coming back together
and trying to fit new pieces
with old
and make it all work
and it's not an insurmountable challenge,
but it is a strange one.
