'And do you think these words are meant for you?'
She nods and looks a moment far beyond the room.
'I think some may be - yes.  Not sure I want
To know'
'And how do you feel about that?'
'The words or the uncertainty?'
'Either. Both. You playing games with me?'
'Believe me - no.
But maybe words must be the only bridge
Between us now.'

She sighs. 'We go our ways, we play
Our roles and mime to expectations,
Others' and our own,  to puppet-please
Through low-lit trudging slabs of days.

But deeper common streams of time
May spring from separated human years,
Make symmetry of selves and find
A breathing river loving all our lost and found.

That we may always know.'