Dear lover, I can only use words to touch you, my hands cannot reach
past the kilometers that separate us in time.
I wait, but at least I do not wait in the vanity of emptiness,
not knowing who you are or for whom I wait.
I do not imagine you with the imagination of a writer of fiction.
I do not conjure up a heroine suffering long to meet a lover off to war,
separated for some worthy cause.
Our love is not the victim of some conflict needed as the recipe for