Last night, a stranger knocked
not on my door
but in my soul
He wore my face
but his eyes
belonged to the stars
He asked no questions
He simply sat
as if my silence
were an old friend
I offered him fire
he gave me
a mirror made of wind
“Who are you?” I asked
He smiled
“I am the one you become
when you stop trying to be”
The world outside
chased its own noise
but inside
we shared a stillness so wide
it could hold a thousand storms
When dawn came
he vanished
but not entirely
Now when I walk
my shadow listens
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (1)
The thought of meeting a version of yourself when you’re not trying to be anything... kind of beautiful.