There’s a gap in the bookshelf 

(where my heart used to be)

it opens upon a vast plain of hills 

long waving grasses

reflecting slivers of lunar glow

sun at midnight 

the way is now clear 

we never gave up 

always knowing 

it was out there 

all that time

waiting

for us to find the words to say

I am 

We are 

to be held 

to be heard

 to be understood

falling forwards tumbling through the years

ghosts of our own futures.