You drink sweet coffee early mornings and sweat
pearls down your nape on summer  nights; you
dream of want.

Zinnia’s sit in an amber vase on your kitchen table,
bacon fries in a cast iron skillet;
there is regret.  

I know you, even though
we have never
met.

it takes us years
to find out how our body works
what it can feel, smell, touch, see, hear
how we can move its limbs
what hurts it, what makes it feel  good

more years are spent
discovering the fathoms of our soul
from murky depths to lofty heights
the scales of feelings, pain, excitement
     love, joy, jealousy, despair,
all our nuanced sensitivities

then we explore
the layers of our mind’s infinite potential
its constant work of making sense
    from the reports of all our senses
so we believe we understand our worlds,
imagine new ones, phantasize about the old

when after all these years
we harbor some illusion
our long experience might be enough
     to straighten all confusion
chances are good we recognize
that all we are is knowledge-misers

we have grown old, but not much wiser