The way towards each other is through our bodies.
Words are the longest distance you can travel
So complex and hazardous you
Lose your direction.

Time is no way either. A river mouth it opens
To a mixing of waters, a tidal
Diffusion, never
a consummation.

In our bodies we are fallen in a thorn thicket.
Out is a tearing apart, a letting of juices.
Inside though is a pathway, a tremulous compensation–
The possibility of touching.

Couzyn, Jeni. The selected poems of Jeni Couzyn. Toronto, Exile Editions, 2000.