With a bruised thumb and index finger
I draw a line—thin—
in hopes that it will widen,
between you and me.
But it’s dotted, at first
it lets in a slight draft,
a tiny storm—here and there
So I go back to the store
to buy more sealant
to close those holes and keep me safe.
Still even the seal leaks
here and there.
Then I remember, it’s not the seal
nor the line—
its’ me who needs to place
a few miles between this line and you.
So this time I turn and step back…
until the line is blurred in the horizon behind me.
