You look at me like a whatnot;
A speck 'mongst sifting sands,
A shaded figure kept from you,
Unknown in common lands.
I look at you like an abstract;
Ideal in wants untold,
Extant for my poor soul.
We sit here on the pale blue dot;
Forgot by what has known 'bout us,
Torn kite left in a tree.
Yet, find you in a crowded field,
My time spent out of doors,
To watch, to wait for what's not there,
Not to be mine but yours.
And so my dance continues,
I step and turn just so,
Spin and turn to dance with you,
--Perhaps on the morrow.