Grated Maya

I came upon your writing

On a neatly folded sheet forgotten

Between the pages of a book.

Even spaced squiggles in a script I never learnt

Your usual exquisitely detailed symmetry.

Measured in thought, as in speech;

Not a line crossed, or an edit smudge

You fill your page with a quiet conviction

Ceding little to doubt. Speak what is known;

Silence the unknown, from voice or sound.

Spare punctuation. A full stop an end;

A question mark never more ambiguous

Than its intent: a query and nothing more.

Here, as always, that effortless perfection with restraint.

 

The moment passed without much complaint.

That you inhabit and pervade time and tract

In your place; amongst your books, your space

Should that compel my lament?

It is only as it has been; as it always will be.

I close my eyes and retract into a togetherness

Into an as it should be.

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