A reach for my small, emptied hand,
as though emptiness
were something to give.

The fact of being separated in space or time.

The grasp of wily nighttime,
of soft blanket,
of ways to respond,
whispers close to silence.

A combining together
or marrying.

I was wondering where we were.

Years of ocean,
waves –
black, indestructible diamonds—
cut toward and away from shore.

The quality of being related.

The brain will wrap it up,
deliver its package –
in paper with shiny geometrics –

For now, we
accept its statement,
like the dictionary’s,
of what a thing is.