My words

are birthed for you,

just so.

So tenderly and full of care

upon this white sand,

this desert space.

Night after night

they rise and speak for me

in the void of goodbyes.


These words are not you or I.

We know the illusion of signs.

Between their black insistencies

is silence;

or maybe the sound of the sea

or the breathing of light.


My words are placed for you

Just so.

So carefully, so lovingly

upon this white sand,

this burning bed of air.

They sing and dance for you

these words;

ghosts on the radio,

phantoms in my fingers.

But between them is another dream

where hands embrace

and silence is a prelude.


My words are sent to you

Just so.

So hopefully, so honestly,

night after night.

Through changing worlds

they carry my remembering

and haunted love.

They are not me but speak my heart

in silence.


My words are cool winds

for you to drink,

familiar hands to hold,

and my compass to find you

amongst the shining string of stars

that weaves our silhouettes together.

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