I like for you to be still, and you are far way.
It seems as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away.
And my voice does not touch you.
Let me come to be still in your silence.
Let me talk to you with your silence.
That is bright like a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of star, as remount and candid.
I like for you to be still, as though you are absent.
Distant and full of sorrow, as though you had died.
One word then, one smile is enough.
And I am happy, happy that’s not true.
