Intangible Tango

You press half-pictures to a placeWhere fact and fancy interlaceLike woodland shadows as they spillIn dusky fringes, dark and stillTo mellow, painted meadows whereYou press your hello to the airAnd draw me almost close enoughTo feel the essence of your loveSlip through seasons without a nameLike poetry no pen can tameAs lost and lonely as the flightOf a kiss blown into the nightOr fragments of a melodyWild as a riled, wave-ragged seaYou press half-pictures to a place No touch can ever quite retrace © Janet Martin