Pane

We are forever connected 
through a pane of weather-tempered glass - 
a sentinel over chaotic waters 
and placid starlit slumbers

Our window,  a mirror to my spirit
sees me the way I was meant to be
no anchors or calendars constricting flow
of thought or being
shapes shift true to form 
he sees me only through our window
not the house the world built around us
I see him only from the shore side, looking in
watching shadows 
believing I see light

Each night
the curtains draw closer together
reminding me how far apart 
from one another 
our bones and sinew dream 
yet the moon shines through the gap
where the hands of the fabric can’t quite join
passing messages between us
across the sills of time