From a Dream in Freiberg
And the voice comes through old,
Injured, chronically healing from new woundsâ€”
Saying â€œlisten to meâ€�
â€”but I donâ€™t.
What if he asks questions I
Donâ€™t want to answer, donâ€™t want
To hear, old questions, new
Questions, questions nobodyâ€™s
even thought of yet.
Heâ€™s only got the one answer,
And Iâ€™m not ready to hear it.
â€œSo howâ€™ve you been?â€� I say.
â€œYouâ€™re not listening to me,â€� he says,
and heâ€™s so right, so right,
so I write.
Itâ€™s only that I thought once you were dead
You had nothing further to say on any subject,
Even you, even me.
So I only remember the voice,
No words but â€œlisten to me.â€�
I am. Believe me. That will have to do.