The Caverns Between

The space between us grows wider.

And not in a metaphorical way

where it's just my mind conjuring space.

I am witnessing

caverns piling onto each other;

the space in-between banks expand,

and you, on the side opposite of me

with your small gardening trowel

chiseling away at the edge

and throwing the dirt behind you.

First, I think maybe you intend

to build a bridge,

a small walkway to the other side

where I can say "hello" and you will answer

and we can hear each other

and maybe we can share a cup of tea.

But as I stand here

watching the cavern grow,

it becomes obvious you are increasing the gap

and using the debris

to build yourself a little hut in which to hide.

I chose to sit

on the edge and watch

the sun reach the horizon

as your hands make

these caverns grow into canyons.

Near the end,

right before the absence of light

envelopes the expanse above us,

as you go into your hut to find rest,

purples and crimsons and bright oranges

flame up over the rocks,

my breath catches and

I lose sight of you,

turning my focus to the stars.