First Meeting

You are so near this moment I could touch
My hand to yours, and yet so far away,
No continent could matter half as much
As these small words we parry with today.
Lightly, as custom wills, our lips are moving
With vacant queries and inane replies,
While deep within us, dark and unapproving,
Our hearts look on this vacuous enterprise.
We bid our host goodbye, and move to go,
Maintaining to the end, amid the chatter,
Our talk of this and that and so and so,
And other things that cannot ever matter,
Knowing with what swift ease, if we should meet,
Our lips could pierce this armor of deceit.

ANDERSON M. SCRUGGS.