first draft:

when you are far
there is only silence.

we may as well be
separate by seas .

and in the windows
the raindrops covered.

i hear nothing,
it feels like days.

hours uncontrolled,
where have we been ?

in the dark hours,
i read books of "Him" and hymns,
and womens' cries of fiction.

people speak of meanings
i do not understand their stories.

they speak with technicalities
perhaps you can translate them to me ?

my world is foreign,
i could not take you there.,
for here, everything is
refined for simplification,
and measured hour by hour.

and what i see
and what i feel
is limitless and far away
and far away.

perhaps we will meet
somewhere between my ocean
and your earth,
soil, dirt, cunning roots growing,
my waters will wash me there.