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by Ingrid Showalter Swift

Hearts sliced from the same red felt
with exactly the same slight curve to the left; 
beating in perfect linear rhythm
completely synchronized, even with distance;
my/your hand rises.

I am not well- you become ill;
you are scared- I shudder;
you long with the power of ocean tides- I flow
with deep currents to the shore;
you cry- tears flow like wine from the deep somewhere 
in my forgotten vineyard, 
moving unaware to your 'how can this be' beat.

I am kidnapped by the undertoe 
of your feelings and emotions and your mind'
that are my own- yours
beating out our tapping, always.
I am alone and am never alone.  I will never know,
sliced as I am from soft furry red felt.
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Poem ID: 25637   Poem Posted: 1/7/2000
Viewed: 36494  Voted On: 375  E-mailed: 85  Commented On: 8
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Copyright , 1-6-00,  all rights reserved by the author.
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