The Guardian, Freydoon Rassouli
You confront me with such graciousness,
My Shadow!
You wait . . . and persist.
This time, I am the one
who is distant, far away.
And you?
You are the patient one,
the evergreen vested with endurance,
the poised, assured watcher on the hills.
I leave the shore
in search of other unknowns.
I sail . . . remote, ineffable, stitched with
the music of the wind.
I live everyday life
with acute attention to detail.
I attach myself to the unspoken.
I feel your voice inside me:
Not knowing is a source of knowing.
Emptiness is a necessity.
I search elsewhere for miracles,
entering deeper into the unknown.
And you?
You pursue me
like Pan does Echo.
You dwell within me, My Shadow.
The joy of your presence twists
oh, so deeply!
within my being.
My breath falters.
You mirror my movements.
Your lips graze my teeth
with their closeness.
If tomorrow’s sun doesn’t shine . . .
I abort this. It is not your voice.
Nor is it mine.
A window opens inside me.
A door.
A ceiling.
A stairway.
The sun is high and bright.
Intense. Ubiquitous.
Why do I still have questions?
I ask myself.
And, I hear you sigh inside me
and—with empathy—mutter,
Emptiness, Dearest.
