Night Call


Sometimes, in the last watch of night, when the soul
is only its lonely self, I wake calling your name,
the sound piercing the the quiet dark
as a true thrown javelin pierces the heart.

In some other universe, more kind, more wise,
my cry is answered by lips warm and eager
as my own, is silenced by your love lock
embrace, till peace weaves its cocoon round.

But on this parallel, in this less benif
icent arrangement of reality, I must find
consolation only by a repeated caressing
of the mantra of your name.

June 12, 2000


About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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