Across the gulf of time and space
Your voice reaches out,
Whispering, crying, laughing, sighing.



Touched by the music I have no choice but to respond,
Letting my own find its way back.



They pass each other in the void,
Our voices,
never touching.



Although their tenor differs,
There is a strain that touches,
Each at the other end.



What is touched quivers,
A tenuous familiarity.
Occasional contact becomes a conversation,
Kindred souls speaking a kindred tongue.



After a time I feel a longing grow,
Wishing that I could experience
More than the voice.



But I cannot cross the space,
You have yet to cross the time,
Across the gulf our voices touch,
The only thing that can.