Inches on a dual scale ruler
splay awkwardly
compared to the centimeters’
compact grid.

So quiet in the cafe,
no eavesdropping
will mark the morning.
Just the sound of

fingertips slamming
MacBook keys, a page
being torn
from an actual notebook,

a ceramic mug gently returning
to the table. My thumb
measures 2 inches, just over
5 centimeters. I can’t decipher

the meaning
in that sliver
of well-worn skin.
Can’t decode

the evolution
of our differences.

The miles or kilometers
that separate our memories.

Those leap seconds
desperately applied

to align
our hearts.