The Infinite Trace

HERE IS :

A pocket of time with your hand in it. I put my hand in your hand in your pocket.

THEN WAS:

a time when this between you and I seemed like an ocean – yet the horizon, we could all agree, the horizon we could ,  if we held up our finger, trace it. My finger pressing against yours. The infinite trace.

NOW IS:

a place much like the past – occupying the same amount of space, whethere you are here or there – then or before or after – it is still the  same. It’s when the other, the thens, flood in and push us out. This can happen. Try not to let it.

YOU ARE:
an island on a remote sea that I found one day while soaring over. I spread my wing shadow over you so you could feel my shade blocking the sun and you looked up.  You could only see my belly. You looked up, you could only see a part of me - a shape in the sun. When I landed, you could feel me.

YOU ARE:

easy surface- not yet knowing your depth, not yet aware of the space you take up, the space I can see from my sky-high eye.

I AM: 

the soft underside. Can you see what I cannot? Can your island eye trace my horizon?