agathe, afosa

You say nothing, and that is enough
Away a whisper,
always, away a whisper.

It is to your credit that you will always seek,
not one who is of material wealth, but
a poet, writer,
tragic soon,
seeker himself.

In a dream could one touch you?
Love you without ever knowing you;
And love you more without ever understanding you.

What do I have to go on - a face, turned into, now turned away;
a song I cannot recall, framed by grace - the idea of song.
Fingers on the guitar, gently forming a pattern,
soon to leave, outside, in the rain, clasping a burning cigarette.

This is all.
All that I have seen in the rain and a moment's hesitant glance.

(2008)