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.