I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines.
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be,
It's only finger-lengths that I see.
I touch the place where I'd find your face,
My finger in creases of distant dark places
...
I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms.