things unseen

Talk to me.
Fill up the empty Why
And bridge the dust-shot void.
Maybe a thousand words replace a gesture,
Millions to approximate a touch,
But try.
Breathe on my hands;
There’s nothing written to prevent this.

tell me anything,
even what you saw on TV last night
and as you speak I’ll see it all:
like the blind see
in every increment but one
so that
like a chair wedged against the door
the Why is yet held back
by facts surmised
the longing filled by faith
in things unseen