If like me it seems you come to a poem

Only when you are ready to meet,

Then we must abide the intervening years,

Gathering our embraces and fears

To be ready for that conjunction

 

And in those thousands of hours trust

In the certainty of that date;

Though our bones grow brittle

And our palates dry, patiently prepare 

Lips, and wait.

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Egress published in Foliate Oak Literary Journal, October 2012

http://www.foliateoak.com/graeme-brasher.html