your face - as clear a vision
a conjuring, a plea
an ideal moment in a possible future

your voice - an echo in a tunnel
to my weak heart
unheard and unspoken

I will surely disintegrate if I am too far
down your earthen path
when I am so used to sand

this world - though stitched
with golden thread
defines the drape behind which you keep

silence amplifies our love
and our dreams of an ideal moment
in a possible future

and in our bravery - when we speak
our radiant joy, though it will not last,
will be a shard collected