Variation on a Theme: Erato

A brief lustre in the distance, a gentle
splash made the man look
up from the sand
where he had lain
the objects in his pocket, to which
he had added a pebble.

The sky was spread out into the evening,
watching, as the man mouthed
the words: car key, pen, cigarettes,
pebble over and over
until the names lost their sense,
as repetition does what it does:
strip things of meaning.

The man had forgotten his name.
He did not know who he was. A voice
in a long-ago, forgotten figment
had called out to him--from a window,
from seafoam; it was loneliness
that made him come.

The slice of light caught his eyes,
igniting a memory--
the sea, a blowing wind, a woman
shrouded in moonlight, a strange song--
that could just as well have been a dream,
for the man did not believe
in things unseen;

still, he stood up and walked closer
to the water. The moon had risen
and so had his sadness,
sharper now that he was surrounded
by so much softness: wave,
breeze, starlight, song, a distant glimmer
which now grew nearer,
and he, caught in shadow,
lost certainty of movement:

Did he move closer, or
did the light?

He held back his tears, kept
the loveliness at bay, for men
from his world never cried.
But the shimmer soon shone
into long, spun locks,
streaming down a paleness--
shoulders, a face, eyes looking into
his, piercing his soul:
I see you, a voice spoke, though there
was no sound. You
summoned, and I came.

Transfixed, the man felt soft fingers
trailing his cheek and the tears fell,
bidden by touch, dear warmth
traversing his cold pathways,
awakening his slumbering soul.

Leaning close, she whispered his name
into his mouth. Stop searching
for me, for I am
always with you.