Always when moments slip into
   silence, I dream only truly of your easy
   language with urgent intimations.

I have always listened to the deep
drone of the animal struggling to be
freed inside of you – housing a pain it
does not fully understand, welcoming strange
darkness encircling us like fugitives.

you remind me of my voice so small,
so fragile, so mute in the mutiny of your song,
  keen with listening as in ear to the fullness of the world,
  a form of trying analysis

when it was only yourself spoken with recall
of days when you were young, ablaze, engraved into the wind,
myself looking back, still finally seeing you

  in the continual of running, singing songs,
  trembling in the wake of the blue hour.