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She needs fewer echos in her home.

They invade every nook and cranny,
every drawer when opened speaks;
between pages of every single book
are squeezed emphatic,
rambunctious, demanding sounds.

Her only escape is in the night
when welcomed dreams bring ecstatic,
diaphanous, yet glorious meetings
with the one who planted echoes
as his spirit reluctantly departed.

She speaks his name with such care
gently wrapping her lips around
the letters like baby kisses
so as not to break each dream.

And he? He stands in the doorway
between now and then, here and there,
smiling with his arms open to her...
but is silent for he needs no words -
they have all been left behind.


© Allen Ansell 2023