everything blurs

I could lose you, but I haven't so far.
I might amuse you, but I daren't, so far.
I could confuse you, but I won't, so far.
Would I refuse you? No, I say.

I've chosen you, yes, this far
from where I was born, far away
from where I woo you, using my hands

to soothe you, meeting your hands.
Now our fingers smooth out the view
as if we're stretching a canvas of a landscape
back onto the land itself--but too big! but too far--

we dive under its contours, everything blurs,
then you drop a clue,
                                   and the land reshapes;

I pick it up,
                   and we pull through,
                                                     so far.

[Molly Peacock {1947- } 'Faraway', from The Second Blush]