I know you will come

The curtain draws in fast,

I had only reached out to the

shadows as it melted in your hands.

As I saw you receding past my dream,

my hands, nimble yet weak, could only

fathom words; beyond which I was

fragile as the wind sweeping my hair.

The threads of the body had been long

laid bare, desires swallow the last

vigour; sapping the marrow under the

crumbling skin, the dust opening crevices

under ruffled feathers where the last

streaks of sunshine refuse to settle.

I know you will come. The shadows

remember you, the opaque painting,

the books, still keep searching for words;

they know your date with time, when silence

will descend with your steps.

I don’t know finality-

a man of numerous beginnings-

I have stretched this time from

its origins, for the beginning to be

caught in the moment you come,

and finality to dissolve in your

very being.