James Mclain Poet Lyric

Phumatic

Spiritual — and Unspoken —
They drift — as Winds — that roam —
Too soft — for Ear — to gather —
Yet certain — as a Home —

They tried — in Vesper Shadows —
To find You — where You hid —
Behind the Mortal Silences —
Where Souls keep what they did —

They brushed — your Sleepless Shoulder —
As if to — Reassure —
That Breath — beyond all Breathing —
Knows more — than we endure —

The Phumatics — faint Messengers —
From Realms we cannot name —
Arrive — without Announcement —
Depart — without a Claim —

Yet still — their subtle Footsteps —
Across your Spirit move —
A Language — never spoken —
But understood — by Love.

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