COLD


   cold

the sense of never knowing

how another sees; though each human eye

can fold about the stars, project

a kind of homespun order on the void

and though our features flow

in other veins, still

remains the cold sense

that even skin to skin a space divides us wider

than the sky; is this shade of blue

your shade of green, my world

your world? Each child alone in darkness,

father, daughter, son

conjoined by love while every sight and scent

is formed by memories of what alone is ours

   cold

frightening



I'm so fortunate to have had this poem and 'Now' wonderfully performed by Sonia Vilimova at www.soundcloud.com/sona-vilimova