Soul of means
sometimes in witness,
though through a vacant stare
another me, usually quite silent . . .
speaks . . . drawing a line directly
from a conversation of long ago
it anchors in me
and I am pivoted away from now
as attention
it is not towards timeline or task
it is quite simply
and deeply familiar a voice
so full of presence
in beaconing tones
yet so soft the call
for me to step out of the milieu
with heart as ears in hand
these are not words
meant for my mind
to sip and run
for I have no recent identity alive
to embrace them
I am placed by another means
that has no equal
my comparative truth as wardrobe
is set aside
a radiance I hardly recognize
stands in for me
it is my soul of means
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