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∴

i can hear you here,
in the silent parlors
and empty kitchens
where my nimble fingers keep steady the beat of time.

 

your breath echoes
from the past
like sound waves off a star.
the light is gone
but i hear you, here.

 

i wish you well
but i’d rather tell
you stories
and listen to yours.

 

it’s too far
-sound from a star-

it makes you feel like no one’s listening.

 

when i hear you, here,
these nimble fingers
press into the heart
to knead it
like bread
to shape it
to rise

but the hours grow long
by its growing.

∴

 

 

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