Nomad Writer

The clouds have gathered

In the misted downlight

Of your eyes

Engraved valleys

Overflowing with streams

Of every unspoken syllable

And fragmented sigh

Rippling from

Your liquid heart

And I know

You long for someone

An inviolable reservoir

Into whom you could empty

Your melancholy

Without burden or guilt

Yet you can’t see

That I’ve always been here

An unhidden brook

Shaped by the current

Of your voice

Waiting for you…