Two

Twenty-four months,
eight seasons,
Seven hundred and thirty
twists of our world.

What city sunk to lend you its life?
Did you steal the spark from a star, now dead?
I'd probably believe you if you told me you had
Diverted the power from a town's power plant;
Sucked it dry and left it dark.
You are just so much, I can't
make sense of when you weren't.

Time's moments extend in space
That's made as you step away.
I think there's a distance I can stand,
Around 10 feet - but not much more than.

Yet, I still feel that you are me.
That I extend to where you end
And no space between will ever cleave
The burn bright line of soldered growth;
Tree rings, defined and also blurred.

Or is there an imprint left in your skin?
Where I live inside of you too.

Ruth Pay, October 2019