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 long ago.

it anchors in me

and I am pivoted away from now’s attention.

it is not towards timeline or task.

it is quite simply and deeply familiar

as a voice so full of presence

in beaconing tones yet so soft the call,

for me to step out of the milieu

with my 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