in your letters I could see your mouth was moving,

your voice was at the tip of my recall.

then, your ghost could only brush against my t-shirt,

now your body shows up to take it all.

and your movements, I could match before your maker;

I know them deep enough to paint them in the air.

Life is a liquid and I stretch far past its borders;

I have a feeling you’ll be waiting for me there.

"Surprise," by Sean Rowe