Hieroglyph 13

Hieroglyph 13

I am lost in the strangeness of it all
The dim lights and unearthly fog
The pyramid of leaves huddled at my door.

You are a presence breathing on my neck
An uneasy dream flickering through all the nights of my sleep
The sound of footsteps in the empty silence of my room.

If you were here I would offer nothing that might entice your return
Or fill your glass with memories of the intervening years of your absence
I am accustomed to your faint writing in the book of my days
And the blank pages that follow
Never to be filled.

I am alone here
With your fading reflection
And the dying echo of your voice
While the winds beat against the glass
And night's opacity creeps from the corners.

Previously Published

© John A. Youril