March

To be in the world and to dream

awake and softly sleeping,

one candle in the light of day

its flame not in comparison

to the awakening sun.

I wish quietly that you were here,

here in the empty pages,

here in the filtered light.

I prefer to write on canvas

seeing the truth

in the absence of sound;

where is your voice?

Nestled in my corner of madness

I smile at the peering eyes that guess

who am I?

Conversations buy wind

increasing the saturation,

perhaps it’s time for music?

Shall I dance alone

to the melody

as I have danced the dance

of ghosts gone by?

Or once,

once in the empty spaces

will you grab my hand,

that I might

be in the world; to not dream,

awake, no longer sleeping;

a universe

against the soft light of the sun.