I know that you can hear the song
In the empty space at the end of a rustling newsprint page
Palmed from one arthritic hand to its partner
Glances and the introverted extraversion of a stifled chuckle
Breathing mystery into the blur passing us by
Those evenings when I am so unsure of whether the conductor’s voice conjures the particular station
Or if that certain space simply sings songs into our proximity.
Don’t hold it in, my love.
Look into my eyes hard
How we’ve always been too afraid to do, and know.
When the world breathes in the whole of humanity and exhales only melody,
I can hear it too.
This exhalation haunts so heavily
This tip-toed, starry-eyed sound silences long-hushed streets and fields
Contemplation bordering on insanity
Anchoring hands tattooed on tree bark, toes in streams, cicadas in ears
Moonlight combing through leaves
Conspiring with the breeze to whisper little shimmering loves from the slivered sky
Her messages carried by barn owls and the foreign midnight babble of water on stones
From my bedrock soul to Orion, down a staircase of stars, home to you.
Somehow we were both born speaking lullaby languages that no one else can hear.
The only secret is that there is one.
You’re searching too,
Let’s not wander alone.