Do you suppose we’ve ever stood in the same storm?
And did you also count the spaces between light and sound?
I used to say “Mississippi” with molasses on the tip of my tongue
Slow enough to pull the rove of pouring close
That soak of summer would loll sweet down my cheeks
The sharp smell of static and some green fever of faith
I held hard to this small giddy wonder at the notion
That the longest river I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes
Let me keep time - to what maybe, just maybe,
Touched you, too.