Dating : Almost, But Not Quite, Close Enough To Touch

Yesterday I read a story
about how,
during the very worst of it,
lovers in Italy
made secret dates
to stand six feet apart
in the grocery store line
just for the gift of
staring at each other
of saying the unsayable
without being fined
for breaking quarantine.

And so they carefully scheduled
their approved shopping
and drove
to the store
through empty streets
in cities full of missing
just for moments
standing
at a safe distance
over carts full of food
they took home
to their respective houses
to eat alone.

I wonder if they facetimed
later that night
planned their shopping
around a shared menu
chopped garlic together
and tomatoes
and carefully removed
the corks from two
bottles of wine
and stared at each other
through tiny screens
speaking truth
eyes meeting
across pixels
just to stay as close
as they could
can you imagine
how much they
wanted each other then
how their desire
must have lit up the wires,
lines of current
reaching across a sleeping
city.

And I thought,
isn’t that the most achingly
beautiful
and hopeful thing
how desperately we want
each other now
how aware we have become
of what we are
to each other
how tenaciously we insist
on the very loving
that so often passed
unnoticed
like how
the privilege
of together
pushing a single
cart down an aisle
with no empty shelves
was entirely unremarkable
until, one day,
it wasn’t.

How beautifully fucked
we all are
seeking a place
to be and belong
turning toward each other
again and again
to untwist the insensible
until it somehow makes sense
when nobody knows
the rules or the timeline
and the faces
we used to read
to gauge our own
okayness
are hidden
behind masks
and closed doors
and plexiglass dividers
in supermarket
checkout lanes.

To be human
is to be a lightning bolt
forever seeking
a place to ground
the charge that builds in
our holy bodies
the electric pulse
of our need.

Like light
curving endlessly
through atmosphere
to illuminate
the night sky
like a river
with a singular destination
we will forever find a way
to bend around
every obstacle
just to make
our way to the sea.

When we are
furthest apart
we cut paths
to togetherness
with our bare hands
by any means necessary
because that connection
is the heartbeat
that keeps us all
not just living
but truly alive.

Energy, of course
is neither created
nor destroyed
like viruses
like hope
like resilience of spirit
like the desperation
of lovers
who will find a way
into presence
even when they cannot
lay hands
on skin
that burns for touch.

If I close my eyes
I can see them
those Italian lovers
of just a few weeks ago
working the system
as best they could
knowing the
fear and grief
that must have been lodged
in their bones
the anxiety
present in the pretense
of normality amongst chaos
the way they must
have leaned imperceptibly
toward one another
in that grocery store line
the compasses of their bodies
screaming
the only sensible thing
would be to fall into
each other
and never let go.

And I know well the magnet
pull of desire
the thread of belonging
the singular pulse
of home
that would make
it enough
just enough
to stand
in line
at the grocery store.

Almost
but not quite
close enough
to touch.