For L.

Stillness becomes me.
Frozen and not a little cracked,
bare to the wind once more.
It has been an age it seems,
but I strain for a whispered hymn
the words of which I had lost.
Forgotten? Put aside is the truth.
Yet I know it much too well
and can sing it from memory.
It speaks my heart, the paths
and forks of my narrow soul.

No use in struggling, be still.
All I have are words
etched by your love.
Even they taunt me now
while I read them as the blind,
fingers tracing the sweetest marks.
The breeze that once carried your sighs rises
and dissipates.

As before, all is motionless.
All is quiet.
No sound, no light.
Dreary, steady, constant.
I find stillness, but I find no peace.