Your voice,
like a gulp of cool, clear water,
after a long dusty trek.
A harmonic note, drumming through my skin,
outside in.
Pounding hounding,
through eons of dreams.
Who knew that a beloved,
once cradled chuckle,
would chime within so deeply so long,
resurrecting ghosts from my ancient boneyard.
Here were sensations
I thought long ago dirt buried and sphinx mute,
insistently clamoring
to stand risen in the light.
Once... just a moment before, whilst smiling,
you did as your grandfather directed.
You gave me delicacies sweet.
Into the glass jar you reached,
placing candies of easter color
upon my open left palm.
You welcomed
after I whispered shy thanks.
A paisan's pronouncement
accompanied our quiet exchange,
imprinting itself unbeknownst, in me.
Did you hear this phrase often?
I was teased you know,
on the car ride home.
Even your first told me she'd heard it,
yet that is another tale
for a different page.
What I recall though,
has shadowed me
these many moonlit miles since.
Always there echoing, quietly beckoning.
And so, I returned
to reflesh self
amid familiar aromas of memory,
all rung
by a soul resonating sound.
2004
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