With so many questions lacking answers
& too many others
as days slip past us
faster & faster:
once again King Panic* wins.
Thin layer of foil beneath the skin**,
& as if in a dream
wind contributes to the scene:
the rain hard & wild against the window,
& the Sun fleeing the grey sky
as tired eyes
shrink from the fading light.
Sullen shudders of self-awareness &
of desperate measures.
Sensing this, the
tachhyonic voltage between us
prompts you to ask:
I fail to convey it to you
language is not all that we need
for us both to believe
that the other understands:
the calm of your hand against my neck
& the questions no longer matter:
without an answer
there can be no question to begin with.
* Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams – Sylvia Plath
** Leaving the Atocha Station – Ben Lerner