Lines

They separate.
They tell us which side.
They are invisible.
They are not real.
They are illusory connections between this point and that.

This point you are.
This point I am.
This line is between us.
This leftness is leftness when you turn from me.
This leftness is rightness when you turn to me.

There is a point to your left.
There is a point to your not-so-left.
There is a point before you and behind you.
There are infinite points.
There are infinite lines.

Polaris will not move.
The Dipper dances around it.
Find me in that space
As we spin dervishly through eternity,
Looking for something to fix upon.