In a place
I’ve never seen,
across an ocean
and a couple of continents,
you live among temples
and dark-eyed children
married to
an Asian queen
with warm copper skin,
a voice of porcelain bells,
and soft tiny feet

or maybe
you live alone
in an outback desert
with west winds
combing your hair,
biting your back,
refusing to let you
forget where you’ve been.

A man or a woman,
you’re a mystery to me
in a world I’ll never see
and still, mostly,
I just wonder

what you look like,
the color of your hair
if you have any.
To one born without sight
it wouldn’t matter
but because I was not
I can’t see you
when I close my eyes.