i do not remember your voice
and thus i can
not describe them with words.

but do not despair my maiden of silence,
though you have never spoken to me.
i feel your voice.

i feel your voice
as certain things are to be felt:
in the silence of one’s awe,
in the darkness when the windows
of the eyes are closed,
invisible, unpalpable
yet warm and certain
as blood flowing through
the tunnels and highways
beneath one’s skin;
earthly and aromatic
as the whiff of dawn’s winds
filled with the new memories
of fresh flowers and morning dew.