Iolanta

Imagine this message as pure whisper,

You can use my voice or any man’s voice,

But do not picture my face,

whose fear would tell a different story.

I will build a runway and buy an airplane,

(Alhough the neighbors will certainly complain when I lay the tarmac),

Ensuring faster reunions because moments apart echo

The weight of those we can’t lift.

I will unload sunshine from my attic,

(Stacked heavily in loaves, - the color of brazenness),

And arrange each ray submissively as a giant animal, now tame,

placed at your feet for your rainy days.

I will hide you deep in a forest,

(With guards so fierce they no longer care about hunger or truth),

If the lie is too bold, they will tell it again and again until spring comes,

ending the winter machine.

When I am old and repeat these things,

(With the candor of a cane and a conifer memory),

Will you hear these whispers as they sound today? - as miracles,

Or simply wish for a younger time,

craving only my speechlessness.