You were born across the ocean
twelve summers before me
You took a train across the States
while I was still a child.
Sitting in the front porch twilight,
a distant whistle blew.
I wonder now if it was you
passing through my town.

I was born here in the desert
twelve summers after you.
I learned spelling words and math
while you studied Shakespeare.
In classrooms and in lecture halls,
teachers said "The world is small"
I'm not sure I understood,
until I knew you.

You were the light on my horizon,
shining across land and sea,
illuminating my whole world
with all I want and need.
Your postcards were my talisman--
made me think I'm not alone.
And no one else I've ever known
fascinated me like you.

I tried to build a bridge alone,
four summers passed me by.
Clinging to your hopeful words,
never thinking you would lie.
In foolish dreams we crossed that ocean,
ignored the distance and the time.
Did you ever care at all?
I wish I could forget you.