the air slightly chilled as the blistering summer
slowly yields and fall teases the air with vibrant
streaks of silver moonlight and breezes so quiet,
each are unique whispers of air reminding you
of the places we used to go off to alone
And the sound of your voice shaped ink endlessly
writing beyond paper and skin,
the journals and sonnets that would be sealed in vaults
I’d give you the combinations and keys to.
If you read them, you may no longer think of me
as a ghost sleeping where you live,
the cold spirit who didn’t know how to become a light
imprinting upon your flesh all the warmth you deserved
and I’d find a way to make it again even if the last of what
I am is to be the kindling.
The night wraps around you and memory emerges,
time’s imprints stepping from silk cocoons that can
no longer blanket our hearts,
so cut the tethers that hold me safe and as the season
slowly yields you’ll feel me leaving the cool air
and the whispers of swaying branches.
No longer reminded of cracks made
along walls and splintering glass,
the sound of your voice now a rising wind
to carry me to wherever I’m supposed to begin again,
the imprints left upon me read as endless messages of
how to create light in another.
