In the middle, the wild

On re-entering the fray, and feeling the heart

What middle thing is tearing at my heart?

Threatening to take me down and out?

Asking for more time, more time

time to love

time to grieve and cry

time to hold our hands

heads downcast and

only

only longing look at

each other, 18,652 kms away.

Away from each other

away from our touch

Away from tears wetting

blessing the other with the

colour of our grief.

The requisite gift of our loving.

It is in the middle

that we find the wild.

It is in the middle way

we choose to tread - even though

This is unsatisfactory to our hearts

that want togetherness - but not

not at any cost.

So we must for now, or forever

be content with the fact

that it is our hearts

that bring these hemispheres together

And in that

maybe the wild medicine

we are looking for.