Yearning

YEARNING

Is that your voice I can hear

a whisper barely heard,

as trees that, wakened, toss their locks

in restless night absurd?

Do I sense a foot-fall

Upon the dry earth bed;

Summer’s husks all blown away

and life, it seems, has fled?

Can I feel your hand

pass before my eyes;

your cold but tender fingertips,

a blindfold you devise?

Outside my window pane

I hear the wind’s low moan.

My dreams have joined its journey,

leaving me alone.

And footsteps I hear not

on the flagstone trails.

It was just my wishful thinking

peering out from layered veils.

It’s not a playful hand

that takes away my sight.

But always on the equinox

The tears will fall this night.