Back to Life

He entreated with a small soft voice barely perceived in the quiet empty void

of mournful devastation.

Hovering, hidden he manipulated every disbelieving crack

to demonstrate tiny miracles

and whisper cryptic words of kaleidoscoped wisdom afire with

the pungent knowledge of continuation.

He walked with me through the relentless seeking of the malnourished

steering my footsteps

from high windy cliffs of weeping worlds and words of despair

to the sights and sense of manifest’s gifts

interlocking with evermore

in the eternal now which is all that there isn’t and is.

He stayed until he thought I’d stopped missing him, until it seemed I was ready

to not notice him leave.

But when I look back I remember a moment when

my heart felt a fluttering hiccup heave

of which I took such little regard

being busy smelling a rose at the time.