Darkness is approaching my window,
looks thoughtfully at my tangled hands
and withdraws into silence.
You live there now, where you can hear the voices of the sea,
where you can wear snow like a garment around your shadow.
You wander in the twilight of strange dreams
like an angel who lost her way.
You move like a flash of light in the river at the edge of sunset.
You recall the memories of trees in the loneliness of autumn
and then you withdraw into silence like an absence.
I speak to you through the universe of silent things
with the white vowels of the sky.
Here, in a landscape of hearing where languages hush
I won’t be waiting for you to answer me.
Here, where I can hear your voice
calling me out of sleep as the other side of aether,
there is no need to hug me anymore.
I look out of my window at night constellations
searching in the abyss for your fading face.
I believe in what has not been said yet, mother.
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