We are connected, you and I,
in ways that we can
almost see like
a constellation
tattooed into our inner most workings,
guiding us towards each other.

We are tangents,
touching briefly and then
veering off in other directions.
We are pick-up notes,
awkward and unfinished until
we tie them to the next measure.

We are the lights of a city
seen from an airplane;
we are the grass
growing between cobblestones;
we are deep pockets and
hidden compartments;
opened doors and paper lanterns;
sidewalk chalk, postcards,
lighters, splinters,
we are all of these things.

All of these things together,
and I can't help but think
how great we could be
if only I knew your name.