to be the echo of a calling,

yes, different from oneself, yet just as true,

in whispering the essence of unspeakable resistance,

to vanish and so let the invincible come through,

on nights when days won’t end in sleep but start with laughter,

embracing desperately one last breath you seek to bury

under cries for help to find that one last purpose that has left you still in wonder,

about neither one, nor two, nor even a hundredth of a question,

but an absence of it there before those voices stolen to deflect

their will to whisper all there is, still true, in ink-marks left on letters never to be sent

–

(inspired by the sounds of ‘A model of the universe’, by Jóhann Jóhannsson)