The longest summer

We, you and I,
adjust to telephones.
Speaking, listening,
Sighing, longing.

Not that
They were ever complete;
Making the wait
Interminable.

Your writing
speaks to me.
I can hear your voice,
the certitude of your tone.

Each day ,
I make plans.
New ones,
Combining, conceiving.

I think
What will I do
When I meet you
After all these days
Rushing, running,
In a frenzy,
Thinking everything,
Fearful
Of forgetting plans
Or
Numbed into completeness;