Sometimes I’ll read the words you write
each turn of phrase, each metaphor;
the choice of words within a line
wondering if I might learn
if they were put there by design.
I’ll fall into their ebb and flow,
each intimacy that you’ve shown…
How is it that you know my thoughts?
How is it that you read my mind?
And in that moment, we are one,
and I am left feeling less alone.
While trapped inside this reverie,
my flaws exposed for you to see.
you hint to things we’ve never shared:
how each of us has lived with pain,
felt the clouds burst, walked through rain.
If truth be known, 'tis but a dream
at a time when dreams have gone.
When life is shattered, torn to shreds
sometimes we grasp onto the threads;
the remnants of some tapestry;
and I am drawn to meet you there,
inside this broken frame we share.
And, in this place where poets bond
I still listen for your song.
© Ginny Brannan 2025
