Braille
hands against the walls, we are
wandering in the dark for a word
to call us, call to us. the quiet
encases us like snow falling
eternally until we're too numb
to feel our way anymore; time tumbling
over our bodies becoming
dust we breathe. but we search
—slowly wading through illusions—
for a resonant somewhere like satin on
our fingertips. i was fumbling along
trying to trace a pulsing vein when
i found your voice entombed in stone. you told me
of a crook in this labyrinth where
music meets solitude and i felt
familiar rhythms in your story (i know the place).
now i'm following your heartbeat i hear
echoing in my head because hope
looped me in a desperate thread and maybe
if i find you
we can take our hands off the walls
and speak out loud.