On the speed of light and love

Your smile is not your smile,
nanoseconds ago. And I wonder
if the love you spoke nanoseconds ago,
remains. I cannot know you
but the past of you, all the one hundred
eighty six thousand two hundred
eighty two miles of you, across the room —
smiling. I come to you, an approximation,
a prediction, a potentiality that if I reach
for your jaw, lean in for a kiss, the possibility
remains that you have left the room, the house,
the life that hinges on such uncertainty.

Image: Karen Alsop on Unsplash

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