O great encompasser
of the three AM world
and the boundless countryside,
where the wind sprints gently
shedding its high heels,
I wish you would come more often,
to rest a weightless hand
on a banged up shoulder,
and to plant a tender kiss
on a pale grizzled cheek
ripped raw by the winter wind.
A mute descending avalanche
to drown the car horns, the obscenities, the talk shows,
with all united under a single banner,
One that needs no name no color no country,
only to be embraced for what it is,
the rarest of all treasures, the soundless.
Return to me now, voiceless friend.
I could use your wisdom,
and your brotherly embrace.
But it seems you visit most
with those who roam after death,
your dearest, best-listening friends.