I came upon a bench.
Upon a hill. Within myself.
I looked to see him sitting,
Silently gazing at the
Calm between breezes.
Placing thoughts before his eyes
Like puppets parading in disguise.
A momentary pause of time.
Corners curled by some memory.
I turned in curious wonder.
To break the reticent air.
What? Or who? Or why? I asked,
Had brought so bright a beaming mask
To paint his countenance,
Once forlorn but now forgotten,
With features light instead.
I’ve seen the sun. The moon. The stars.
Answered he with gaze ahead.
I’ve basked in birth. I’ve seen the dead
Reflected in a mirror of dreams.
I’ve heard a chorus of wheeling whales
Within the waters of my heart
And swimming through my soul.
They’ve called to me in solemn song
Like heaven’s lights, as old and long.
When quiet settled once again
Upon that hill, within ourselves;
He turned, at last, to face me.
Rivers from my eyes he spied
And, head cocked, he asked.
What, or who, or why, I cried.
I know not length of time that passed,
But patience was our partner.
Hurried answers had no voice.
I cry for you, I said, who holds not
She that summoned songs and Suns.
A loss so great must surely shock
Mountain heights of snowy rock.
To let her go. To let her be.
Arms now empty of permanence,
Perfection held and returned
In spiraling, speechless nights.
I cry for you who holds not she.
He held my hands. He kissed my brow,
As those words hung in soundless air.
He brushed my cheeks to take the tears
And ease me of my doubt and care.
For I she holds, he smiled and spoke.
Ever she will where none may know,
And in her heart she keeps no other.
For that, alone, I am belong
To always walk beside her.
© Brandewulf 2018