Calling

As Through the Bedroom Window

Cary Chrysler (We Who Dream)
Who speaks thus,
whose hand has writ long,
to span centuries yet nothing passed?

A sort of mental wind,
a psychic storm treads heavy,
leaves echoes of its own voice.

Breathing the curtains in,
its voice calls my name,
its ancient words follow,

like drops of rain against the glass,
no longer heavy but lighter,
and lighter still...calling.

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