1.
The sound of my voice prompts him
to move mountains
in my name
but should my voice have to be uttered
for the mountains to be moved?
Can't synchronicity be achieved
without a word?
2.
The kitty cries
an invisible purr
(but aren't they all)
for her daddy
(my daddy; my baby's daddy).
He's nowhere to be found.
He's in a home
that's not his home
(but, really, this isn't either,
nor is it mine
but only temporary,
then why can't it be
his
and mine
at the same time?).
3.
Cradled in my arms, I feel
his immortality
(and mortality)
flowing through his veins
(flowing through his brains).
I run my hand through his locks
as I have
so many other times
(so many other times)
and look at my hands
(and look at the hands that were mine)
and say (again),
"It's going to be all right.
I'm here."
And he believes me
for the first time
(again)
that I'm here
for now
forever
(again).
4.
Gone again, I resort
to typing on a screen
about my life (our life)
and wishing, hoping, praying
that I could be a part
of his life (our life).
Those shadowy figures which dwell
(ruff)
in his realm of reality
(a dog, his brother, my in-law
but not really;
still, he's family)
are ghosts in mine
but still have to be real
because he's real to me.
5.
A better day,
a breeze blows from the sea,
(music from the ocean spirits
fill us all
with something
with energy
and song)
just him and me (again),
as it has been,
as it should be.
But is it the way he wants it
now? as he is?
Will he accept that the world is big enough
for them (ruff)?
for me (purr)?
for us (music)?
to all be in reality
but for us all to be
in synchronicity?