There are no dead, they walk the air we breath,
they speak through the tomes of ashes in their mouths.
Though numbed by passing and surpassing fear
and bound to being on this trembling ground
I stand on all the while you spin me round
the axis of a passion or a year –
giddied I listen, having no choice but hear
your song composed of noteless silent sound
as if unhemmed, and your whole nature crowned
in hints caught up in waves – now blurred, now near.
the lapping waters absolves
my deepest fears
running my fingers through your body
over the waters, shimmering, a face
I’ve half thought yours appears to smile and call,
and back I call, Time – come – I am the space
you long to lodge in and take over all
the darkest corners from and light in grace
unsure if still I stumble, rise, or fall.