The Stranger's Voice

Only a constant reminder
of the possibility
of happiness
stands in the gap,
fills the interval
between me
and a sadness
like the absolute silence
of outer space,

a sadness that came from nowhere
and was dispelled by no one.

Through the shrouding stillness of grief
I saw the good things of the world
but was not in the world with them.
So distant
were the little dogs who serenade
my alley strolls, the shrubs that trembled
with the chattering of nervous flocks,
the neighbors' white-skinned cypress
and its leaves that shivered
and crumbled and then waxed
green again.

Then across the silence
like a smothering blanket
struggled a stranger's voice
a voice that flamed along
the edges of the stagnant air
mutely reminding me
of all these things
that live in the breathing
spaces beside me.

Only the pulsing presence
of this voice
from beyond my grief
saves me from sliding
away from life
and out of the world again.