Echoes beyond your ears

30th June 2010

I am holding the hand of someone I cannot see:
I can’t know who you are,
You are yet what I breathe,
And in every piece of you there is a piece of me.

Like a shadow you follow me,
Like an angel you watch over me,
and there are echoes in the dark of night that I might never hear.
When I speak, there are words,
words,
words that voice a whisper through the efficacious trees.
They make their way past the forest,
bats,
bats that flap their darkened wings underneath the bitter breeze.

It is not I, I have not watched
the sky bleeding through the canopy and sunlight barging through,
for years now,
but you hold my hand like the blue and yellow follows me,
yet like in a small package…

as one would wrap a gift, or
pack their lunch, or
close the mismatching lid on a black porcelain mug of coffee, or
as one would close their bag, or
shut a purse, or
zip a jacket, or
lock a locker, or
close the whiny latch-door of an old dim and windowless attic

…unnoticed.
Contents unnoticed,
following,
trying to catch my attention.

There is a whisper that makes me turn around;
You’re still attached to me no matter how hard I try to throw you away,
But I don’t think I hear you whisper any more.
If I keep walking, it doesn’t change;
I still never see the yellow or blue making its way through the tops of the thin frail trees.

When all is dark as ever,
(I’m thinking as I’m walking,)
I feel the fear build up inside me for being alone.
I reach out for more than just your hand grasping mine,
As I embrace someone more than a shadow.

If I cannot see, I can still feel.
I feel more than yellow and blue.

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