What right did I have to reach into her dimension,
Take and kiss her hand—pull it halfway through
Then let it fall limp between the panes?

By rights, she beckoned me from the end of a hall of mirrors called memory
The shards of which I tried to replace as best I could
After many shatterings.

Still, my world being real, my responsibility for circumstance held sway
Versus her whole ephemeral portmanteau called jealous rage
I nearly tripped over where it lay, backing out of that dark tunnel.

Looking back I only know the love I felt like rain on empty drums called desire.

When her mate and mine…mate, we can then work to make the pieces fit
From what remains, and I imagine happiness
Will reign in one world or another.