i sit in the silence of my solitude
glad that no-one can call on me
satisfied that everything is in its rightful place

and then, the nerves in my wrist stir
like a chick within its shell
not knowing what awaits it
but unable to accept the inertia any longer
i reach out
and my hand, and my heart
encounter only emptiness
and i am afraid

i want someone to look into my eyes
i want someone to hold my hand
i want someone to be quiet while i speak to them
i want someone to speak to me

until i cross my legs
straighten my spine and open my chest
and begin to enter the rhythm of my breath
and there beneath that tide
i melt into the aching currents of my heart
swim the eddies of my longing
and lost in them i lose them
thrown up on the shores of their stillness
where there is no moving, no reaching
only the perfect rhythm of wakefulness caressing my nerves

but from what seas do these tides turn?
what moon, what wind directs them?
what is this emptiness that sucks at me
while i rush madly to avoid it?

is it the unavoidable flavour of our flesh
the pressure of blood and bone?
is it simply loneliness that drives us?
or, is it holiness, the secret hand of god
stirring, stirring
bidding us make our way back home?