What would happen if I reached forward  
and put my hand on your shoulder—  
Would it comfort, or cajole?  
Would you be angry? Alert?  
Because I know you're not expecting this attention.

Would you feel a shock of excitement, or fear  
brought suddenly into this moment  
by a memory  
that you never expected would meet me?  
Would confusion be a blessing in a thoughtless certain day,  
would you remember the last time this happened  
vision dusty and hairs raised  
wondering if I could like to know you, learn to know you,  
make time that's only past when we're passed in it

How can it be?  
Time, measured just in body-lengths and breathlessness—  
spaces in between growing infinite lengths of nothingness.

Will I reveal myself?  
Will I know how to, after years of longing  
Shall I lay down my mother's picnic rug—a space to hold a place for us  
Brushed against your sway,  
is it right that longing and belonging are so far apart,  
or should we capitulate, know that one is just a lesser part,  
go this separate way.

All it would take is for me to reach out in front and touch you on the shoulder  
for you to turn  
and exhale with me  
to change this day.