Perhaps This Trinket

Through chances innumerable

We have arrived,

You the explorer, the seeker of newness,

I the content creator

Hoping to not waste your time.

We both traffic in messages in bottles,

You now adding traces of my thoughts

To the trove of otherness

Stored in electrochemical array

Gift-wrapped within the dura mater

Of your skull

And you are changed at least as much

As the orbit of the Moon above was changed

By our flybys and landings,

But your orbit abides, nested in your aspirations, rhythmed by your schedule, soothed by evidence such as this

That someone cares to help you be more

Than alone.

Perhaps this trinket of good wishes for you,

Which cost me some stretching and finger taps

And you a small bouquet of time and attention

Will be retrieved for your focus

A time or two hence.

Perhaps not. There are better uses of your time.

It and I will abide there, though,

Behind the orbits

That nest your eyes.