Speaking to you from a photograph,
No longer body but idea,
I say these words
Without the twitch of a muscle.
As the August wind twined your hair
Into absurd weavings,
You heard emptiness echo.
You held emptiness instead of a hand.
You heard silence instead of your name.
As my train thundered toward a dream world,
I became an abstraction,
A solemn idea demanding a ceremonial tear.
I will wander blankly in a new place
Among blank faces, thinking of you.
As trees fly backwards at the speed of sleep,
I whisper that I love you,
But the train hears only its own roar.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
Speaking to you from a photograph,
No longer body but idea,
I say these words
Without the twitch of a muscle.
As the August wind twined your hair
Into absurd weavings,
You heard emptiness echo.
You held emptiness instead of a hand.
You heard silence instead of your name.
As my train thundered toward a dream world,
I became an abstraction,
A solemn idea demanding a ceremonial tear.
I will wander blankly in a new place
Among blank faces, thinking of you.
As trees fly backwards at the speed of sleep,
I whisper that I love you,
But the train hears only its own roar.
