Wind, tunnels tornadoes
electric storms caress the desert,
silence is the best.

Whispers disappear
in the voice of every day,
I can’t hear your words,

I can’t hear them above the noise
of normality.

Sunday bells chime,
you call my name across sky scrapers,
empty beaches,oceans that go on for ever;

but I still can’t hear you.

Tree turns to gold leaf
another autumn rises and falls
I am somewhere beyond light

and surf.

Waiting for the cold,
from a cold seeping through
centuries of bone.

Shuffled from sanctuary
to sanctuary, defiled by
city street lights, not listening,

and I just don’t listen.

Morning windows,
sticky with night sweat I turn to you
and find empty space.