When the ease of expression 

wanders a dim fringe,

unknown by any familiar nostalgia

That would have made the silence

Comfortably stitched in midnight silk;

It becomes lost

Calling out

To what it perceives

To be nothing

Anxious echoes ebbing 

Towards untouched recesses

Where every fetal and curious thing

Longs to be found;

Nurtured by an awareness of existence

And a careful, tender love.