17 November 2015
Once again following in your tracks.
Always two steps behind.
Never able to catch you.
I will look for you with each step I take.
Around each corner I turn.
Feeling out the traces you have left behind.
Intoxicated by the knowledge that once you were there.
As if this makes me more human.
Reinforces the elusive fact that you and I are of one blood.
Handed down from generation to generation since the days of Eve.
Not the blood of the everyman.
The blood of the other.
Who remains perpetually unseen.
Whose existence can only be fathomed from within our shoes.
From within the gulf which separates us from the world.
From each other.
You pretend to hear these words I cast from my shell.
But I know it must be an act, for who can know the unknowable?
Still, it is an act which breathes life into my bones.
Reminds me that I yet yearn to be alive.
Perhaps that is what keeps me going.
The hope that after all these years.
After all those years.
After all the years.
That my voice will reach you yet.
That my voice will reach her.
That I will one day hear and be heard.
My solace is long, slow, and lonesome.
My eyes grow blind.
My ears deafen.
And in this silence I begin to hear.
In this blackness I begin to see.
Copyright © 2015 Charles Fry
the difficulty of translation from the silence of that night Once again following in your tracks.