If I could still the voices in my mind,
if I, through soothing words,
could calm their endless worry,
I’d whisper to them, listen!
listen to my heart!
hear its faint staccato rhythm,
ancient and enduring.
If I could slow time’s passage,
clasp a handful of wayward seconds
tenderly to my breast,
I would ask no more of life,
fear nothing from my death.
If I, through sheer power of will,
could use this precious time,
to come upon you as a specter,
a translucent lover, a benign force,
I would bathe in the light of your eyes,
drink your vital breath like ruby wine,
massage your lips with kisses,
tempting and intensely satisfying.
If I could, above all else,
record the beating of your heart
with the touch of my fingertips
upon your pulsing chest,
then I would have known you deeply
in the seconds shared between us
our wounds healed, our hearts full,
minds soaring higher
on faded, thread-bare wings
each straining to reach
the realm of possible,
as dreams so rarely do.