Go until the earth lies between us, pregnant,
The curved horizon blue as a whale’s back
And every constellation different.
Go until your memory is black
With absences where I had been the stars
That shooed your ship home from her wanderings.
Go until the sound of talk is strange, far
From your childhood chants and gabblings;
Where ABCs are cuneiform on the blocks.
Go until time itself has come unsprung
And the hands go whirl-a-gig on the clock.
Go, go, and retreat not back one rung.
For there’s nowhere where you are that I am not,
Seeing what you see–and what touches you, I touch.