flying on the wings (a difficult poem)

The aroma comes in first, first through the open window

In awe, in fear I welcome you

In fear, in case you leave

In awe, and in stillness, because there is nothing I can say.

There is no way to describe, there are no words,

When you visit me, we sit in peace, in stillness.

I write your story in silence,

I tell your tale in peace,

For there is no other way.

There is no symbol that will meet your being, 
there are no words that I could use.

I cannot tell the story through me - through what you make me feel,

For that is of no matter.

And I cannot tell the world, of who you are, if they haven’t looked and seen you.

I want to tell your story, I want to speak of our love.

But what I can say is this:

I am so very glad for the stillness;

that the noises are gone;

all that noise, and all that activity are lost now.

And I feel as if this noise was a distraction,

a repulsive disgusting distraction

that had kept us apart.

What I am doing is a difficult thing

It is a dangerous thing:

I feel I must be silent, to hear you

I must be at peace, to see.

But I want to speak of our love,

I want to tell it.