She sat in a corn field
drawn into herself,
folded into a world of her own making.

He wrote from distant shores,
spoke of places she could only glimpse
through his eyes.

Her eyes followed his cadenced words.
Syllables as robust as any brew,
waking up her hidden senses.

Distance an allusion.
Language a fibrous connection.

The sun that set over them
was and was not the same.

The paper a beating heart,
the ink an invisible sentiment.

Miles travelled in the twinkling
of an eye across the page,
words rich to the taste.

She dug her hands into the earth
and held onto the flavor.