There is a shadowland
between our hearts:
A still place.
I cannot reach you there.
You cannot hear my dove,
my song of searching,
the soft coo of my voice.
I miss you so.
Is there a grace to be found
in giving ’way, letting go?
What if I invite the wind
to sift the sand around our feet?
If I do that, perhaps our names
will no longer be written together there.
But, I have heard that in desert places
where the wind wears away all it touches
it may, if it chooses, carve a rose
out of standing rock. And if it does
perhaps that rose will remember us.
How we were.
How we held each other.
How the tears of our hearts flowed. Together.
If you should wander, someday
into that shadowed place
perhaps your hand will pull that rose
to your heart.
And when
you hear my voice,
my searching cry,
my dove returning with the wind
you will remember.
