"We"

She steps into the fog
that blankets Gotham,

moving forward by touch,

hands outstretched.

If she blindly trusts

that the wind
cannot lead her,

she will discover that baby steps

are breath-taking strides
toward adulthood.

She will step into the waiting

of the welcome unknown

and find his outstretched arms.

Their palms will touch,
a gentle hello of warmth,

the whisper of a memory,
a spirit's embrace.

She couldn't have guessed
that he, too, had been faithfully
combing the clouds
hovering over their city

blissfully dormant in the downpour.

"I've been looking for you," he says,

"I thought you were gone."

"Not gone, lost" she replies,

"But now I am found."

"We are found," he whispers.

"We," she acknowledges,

gently exhaling 

the new word

into being.

Lightly lined hands
hovering over one another,
fingertips humming
with a promise of tomorrow,

they step back into the fog,
and find their way.