I'll Give You All My Promenade

We can see stars afar and cells up close, but I still don’t have the eye to see you through. You come as a feeling, evaporate as a mood. I hope to spend more time strolling and talking with you. When I walk in strange places, I wonder if you’re walking alongside me. The poem got more difficult as I tried to diffuse you between the lines. Days that go by loveless seem like a waste. I can’t reach you, but I’m glad I can see the things in the unreachable distance. How many poems do I have left? Can I go on as a poet? Questions related to poetry always hurt.
From “Poet’s Essay”