He not only lived here
inside this house,
he was this house,
in fact remains here even now
inside this house.
When I enter, I enter him.
I feel the air move in all directions,
I feel him fill the space like light
when I flick the switch.
He is not sad or angry
though his body curled up
like burning paper,
right here inside this house.
That night I felt his soul pause
and then slip into these walls
as if into the folds of a thick drape.
He did not rush away from this
weak animal life
but when I speak to him
there's no answer--he cannot answer,
how could he without tongue and throat?
The murmurs of wind through windows,
through cracks in these walls, they soothe me,
sometimes fool me but they are not him,
he lives in a world of thoughts
and thoughts are soundless.
You might say such silence means
nobody's here.
But I feel him as I feel myself
within and around
this house
