Science

"That's a dancing shadow,"

you tell me.

"That's a silent song.

Listen; can you tell me what you hear?"

I guess

I can hold your hand now,

after all this.

So I do.

It's warm

but distant.

They tell me that

no one surface in this world

ever really touches another;

something,

electricity

or air

or energy

will always keep them apart.

Or something like that.

The point is

I can prove this,

for I have held your hand

I have heard your words,

Ethereal,

meaningless to my ears,

but beautiful.

"One more time,"

you ask.

"Where are we?"

"Here,"

I answer,

and this seems to satisfy you.