I've come to measure time and space by your absence
A series of days to distract me from our meeting place
Weeks to separate memory from smell, blue sage and pine
Of the familiar hum of my fingers, tracing your Anahata  
Gently, as to wake it from its stubborn slumber
Yet somehow the color of your presence, always remaining
A distant, tantalizing green blur upon my horizon
Orbiting slowly closer, always just out of reach