surely we’ve met in midair
sometime ago

your stubborn neck disregarded my smile
apologetically you stirred these mediums
the melancholic instruments attached to my head

on a solid oaken table we wrote
the aloofness of a spell
critiquing the crafty shapes

with your index finger you pointed at me

and shivered

i waited

and thickened your space very slowly

my voice reached your core
i knew then how bitter your loneliness was
tempting these souls to write

and with your little murmur
a flame in my chest i saw
i slowly began to weep

you stroke my head listening to me pray
softening my thoughts
the names that inhabit my soles

the steady pure familiar calm
the wind the golden faces inside this life of mine
designed for staying here

urging trumpets to melodically banner my heart tonight .  .  .