We Are the Point Where Parallel Lines Converge

I see you at a point where parallel lines converge.
The day is bright and there you are off across a field.
You are, in fact, a point tiny as a redwood seen through
the wrong end of a telescope, reduced by distance
to be almost atomic, as if you were smaller than you are,
as if accumulated space determined the significance of things,
as if the point of being could sit upon the head of a pin.
But then you come my way and I know that distance
cannot collapse love and that, as a poet has said,
things seen from a distance are so much bigger than they are.

Jim C. 3/29/23