Generously educated by the one sound missing
from an otherwise perfect silence - I’ve acquired
absence. Sight sacrificed for a Vision and
I find, when I can, a way to climb
out of daytime into
Light - where I listen.
There, I who loves you
makes peace with your call
sent out long ago.
I can’t reach back to
touch our history any more
than I can escape its reach.
It touches me.
And I hear … now - finally and
too late to answer - your voice
as it was then. Mine,
in chronic echo,
mine, the ghost suspended and
haunting itself.
Your voice without want or
need of want -
Gallant in its humility,
air-born in its humanness,
ubiquitous as my heartbeat.
I tell myself:
“I’m no longer a child. So, if
the night’s made long
with loneliness, remember
your unimportance - how small
you are.”
That is why I love
the night. That is
why I love.
An answer, offered as a gift
unopened. A pile of still sealed letters
and my response, folded in and down
on itself - unknown to itself
in the un-spun galaxy
just past my breath.
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