Sometimes I'll see a feather on the ground and I'll wonder if the bird it belonged to a ever flew over you, 800 miles from here.
I'll wonder if it was ever so beautiful that you pointed it out to your daughter as she looked up with you, before ignoring it and going back to playing.
There are so many Oregon license plates here.
Every car, every truck, every jeep I see with that green tree - I wonder if they ever drove through Medford on their way here. If they ever drove past you. Or sat at a stop light next to you. If you were ever stuck behind it at a Dutch Bros drive thru waiting to your Pumpkin Latte and your daughter's straw of whip cream.
All of these thousands of hypothetical invisible coincidences that connect us but we'll never know.
And the only reason they mean anything right is because I can't touch you.
I'll wonder if it was ever so beautiful that you pointed it out to your daughter as she looked up with you, before ignoring it and going back to playing.
There are so many Oregon license plates here.
Every car, every truck, every jeep I see with that green tree - I wonder if they ever drove through Medford on their way here. If they ever drove past you. Or sat at a stop light next to you. If you were ever stuck behind it at a Dutch Bros drive thru waiting to your Pumpkin Latte and your daughter's straw of whip cream.
All of these thousands of hypothetical invisible coincidences that connect us but we'll never know.
And the only reason they mean anything right is because I can't touch you.
