The Great Invisible

You closed your eyes and didn’t tell me what you saw.

Every feather on every bird. You saw every dream. You saw every sunset as it was meant to be seen, through every eye and mouthed the words ‘I love you’ as though you were repeating someone.

When you closed your eyes your family were all around you, whispering in your ear, good words and bad. I saw a sleepy looking girl in a brightly lit café. I tried to get you to hear me, I saw an absence that wasn’t there.

You heard every conversation, saw the words that were missing, you were exhausted with love. You saw the beauty and the wonder of the man we passed on our way here, sitting on the street. You unsaw his dirty clothes, I unsaw his face covered in sacred purpose.

You closed your eyes and you saw
a hundred poets reaching out to the great invisible
touch it, pull back suddenly
suddenly love is a face, a place, a feeling.

Show me, show me, show me – why a twenty minute conversation with you
feels like
the best day of my life
and I’ve lived a long, full life. Show me, show me, show me-
“What’re you thinking?” I asked.
Nothing, she said. Nothing important.
So I stopped. I stayed quiet. And I listened.

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