Long Distance

Free verse poem written for Elizabeth Wickland as part of a collaboration for The Artistree Project and presented at Fieldmoot in 2024.

If I were a photon—
mass and pure energy inexplicably intertwined—
launched from the sun,
hurtling through space with incomprehensible speed,
it would take me
eight whole minutes
to reach the screen where these words are taking shape.

If I were a photon—
a mystery, both particle and wave—
embarking on an interstellar voyage
from the next nearest star at the same blistering pace,
it would take me
more than four whole years
to travel nearly six trillion miles
through the void to this backwater planet
so that I might see the faces upturned in wonder
at the splendor of the firmament.

I am not a photon, but I am a mystery nonetheless—
stardust and breath inexplicably intertwined—
yet, comparatively tortoise-like,
it would take me
twenty-one whole days
to tread with dusty shoes
the nearly fourteen hundred miles
between my door and yours.

Yet I tell you a mystery:
Every other week, I launch a flotilla of photons,
sailing through fibers at incomprehensible speeds,
carrying me in mere milliseconds
across those fourteen hundred miles
through a wormhole to your desk
so that I might see your face light up
and revel in the cadence of your words.

As I pass through that wormhole, I ponder another Mystery—
God and Man inexplicably intertwined—
who folded heaven and earth with incomprehensible grace,
taking thirty-three whole years
to tread with dusty sandals
from a manger to an empty tomb,
bridging our sin-gap like a holy wormhole
so that we might see the face of the Father
and hear Him singing over us.