Cicadas creating a cacophony,
emerald leaves gracing limbs
centuries old; the park is alive.

Neighbors walking dogs, rumbling
home after a long work week, a lively game of tennis is being played across the way.

I should feel...
good
happy
content
calm
something

In our astral oasis
the scorpion and the fish
have no secrets.

The shadows have been buried
under rocks on the bottom
of our stream
and
time is always now,
distance is always here.

Here and now,
I feel your fingertips
in the warm evening air.
Fingers on hands I've never held.

I hear these hands
writing a letter,
sliding across the paper
leaving whispers on the leaves
and fingerprints on
the ancient roots.