Your voice in the wind’s echo (Marcella Boccia)
Your voice drifts through the valley,A whisper caught in the throat of the mountain,As though the winds themselves were tryingTo hold it—To keep it from fading into the night.It is a voice like the dark of forgotten stars,Soft as the touch of rain on a broken leaf,Heavy with the weight of something unsaid,A song lost to the silence of time.I hear it,Not in the clear light of day,But in the murmur of dusk,When shadows stretch like the fingers of ghosts,And the earth is bruised with the memory of pain.Your voice,It is both promise and sorrow,A flame that burns without light,A fire that feeds on the air,As if it knows the hunger of this world.And still, I chase it,Not to capture it,But to understand the space between each breath,The pause that hangs like a tear on the edge of the world.For in the echo of your voice,I find the silence I cannot fill,The emptiness that calls me home,Even as it pulls me further away.Your voice in the wind’s echo—A love both eternal and forgotten,A song that will never be sung,But whose melody I will carry,Through all the seasons,Until the wind itself has nothing left to say.
