Whispers

Whispers

Here,
in a place observed,
the elements
have settled long ago
finite and human:
the lines of your body
sweetly framed in cushions,
and at the doorway
hewn from wood,
the scent of you
         lingers.

There,
at your chair
in the book
with the leaves turned down,
and there,
in the cranberry muffin crumbs
scattered at your table,
is a solitude
never lonely
and a voice that whispers
courage, whispers
flesh, whispers,
         whispers
blessed life.