dear john,

I find the map and draw a straight line
over rivers, farms and state lines
the distance from 'A' to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
my fingers in creases of distant dark places

[...]
I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms