Intangible Tango

You press half-pictures to a place

Where fact and fancy interlace

Like woodland shadows as they spill

In dusky fringes, dark and still

To mellow, painted meadows where

You press your hello to the air

And draw me almost close enough

To feel the essence of your love

Slip through seasons without a name

Like poetry no pen can tame

As lost and lonely as the flight

Of a kiss blown into the night

Or fragments of a melody

Wild as a riled, wave-ragged sea

You press half-pictures to a place 

No touch can ever quite retrace

© Janet Martin