It was full of friends

and full of ceremony,

a very sweet dream.

Now, awake, these things have mostly gone away.

Friends have gone, ceremony has gone.

Have I pushed them all away?

Do I carry only my guilt

like a bag upon my shoulders?

I'm not content in this desert,

waiting, growing old,

watching people, like memories

recede into shadows.

Where is my house?

This is not it,

only a country for wandering.

Your voice keeps me fastened
to the world,
like your touch,
not given, except as a gift.

Electronic text appears in a box.
Images capture moments
no longer here.
Faces become icons, not present,
only representing,
not real.

Your voice comes over the phone,
it's my heart carried in slivers,
the ground that I stand on grows flowers,
more than memories, moments alive.

I return to dreams of your scented body,
your touch, your care,
with only your voice reassuring the world,
your laugh, my love, the present.