From a Dream in Freiberg

And the voice comes through old,
Injured, chronically healing from new wounds—
Saying “listen to me�
—but I don’t.

What if he asks questions I
Don’t want to answer, don’t want
To hear, old questions, new
Questions, questions nobody’s
even thought of yet.
He’s only got the one answer,
And I’m not ready to hear it.

“So how’ve you been?� I say.
“You’re not listening to me,� he says,
and he’s so right, so right,
so I write.

It’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 “listen to me.�
I am. Believe me. That will have to do.