Etching my movements in time as a sculpture would to stone.
One wrong scratch on the experience and the whole plan falls.
I try to memorize all of your countries and how they fit in and line up and how some of them surface only during times of dispute or sadness.

Many people dream this dream.
Many people hide.

I glanced in your direction through a screen like a steamed window, buffed for clarity, squinting for connection.

And no one has to know.
There's nothing to fear.

The music in your voice isn't the same as the tapping on my bed
Thinly resurrecting in course of the night.

I want to believe in the tug.
I want to believe that the struggle is somehow pulling me closer.
But more often I just want to hide.