Out of Reach

Maybe I imagined you. Are you an
illusion? existing only in my memory?

In the fog of shimmering nostalgia?
Or the sparkling promise of the future?

"Where are you?" I ask. "A bike ride away?"

"I’m blinking between Madrid, Mexico, Morocco,"
Or your mother’s house in France.

A mirage moving between continents. You’re not really there.
You’re a bubble that disappears upon a touch
Or the foams in the waves, dissolving beneath my palm. I know that
You belong in the ocean, but may I please enjoy you, for
Only a minute?

Before we say our second Goodbye?

You’re a tuxedo cat, the teenage kind that
Slithers between furniture and
Knocks matchsticks off the coffee table.
Really, you’re such a
Boy. Even in your Saturn return.

Who doesn’t love a coincidence? You keep denying me one.

But I hope you remember—
It’s how we first met. I accept that now is not our time. 

I want to.