Cryptic Signs

Now, I don’t know why, he left without a word, returned from the grave, only to walk a road I could not follow. Someone must have held his name closer, spoken in a language I could not hear. I watch them exchange unspoken truths, a passerby in their quiet communion. And now, I don’t know why, she left without a word, came back from the night, holding a baby’s hands, still and cold. So, I must let go, accept the shape of my solitude. No cryptic signs or fleeting gestures, only clarity will chart my course. I throw open the window, invite the mercy of the wind. I am a judge in search of justice, an equivocator craving honest ground.