our imaginations of one another;
then humans who are real respond
to words made for caricatures.
The air vibrates; light waves reflect;
we interpret and try to understand—
sometimes to find that we are known,
sometimes to find we never were.
But who knows? Who can judge?
My imagined You might know Me,
or not; maybe my imagination of You
resembles the real You; who can tell?
Be kind, and sometimes sad: we hold
each other only ever at arm’s length.
September 2019
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