Asterism

...your voice is not a feather i can hold / but a thought i draw / across my throat...

Filmmaker Cris Thorne
Partner Cave Canem

Asterism

it is funny to think now of that silence, with you,
at the desk reading, and me, writing on the couch,
 
separately, and the meaning of that
were you available to hold my hand or if you sat sometimes still
 
in this chair when you were tired of the world outside
of us, or if i anymore wrote
 
about possibilities other than this, or the curve of your
nose, the bridge beneath my lips,
 
that is,
if the silence of the two of us
 
was predicated by my being able now to reach you,
how that quiet, that night, in this room, might have seemed a comfort,
but instead of that silent song, the twinkle of your candles
between, and neither of us with anything
 
in particular to say, how the quiet trembles,
because your voice is not a feather i can hold
 
but a thought i draw
across my throat when i close my eyes—
 
i am trying to say that though the absence
has already gone, a world
 
revolves around it, i hope you know, the two of us
like stars that try to speak but cannot be heard
 
because of all the things they say of space
 

“asterism,” a poem by Keith S. Wilson. ©2015 Keith Wilson. Used by permission.


 

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