"To Love What is Mortal" Cristian Tamayo

By midmorning

the half auburn light of fall

spilled through the still

damp cold air and broke

the silence of the day with its

slow growing wake.

The whistles of the birds settling

into the tall sprawling trees,

the distant low humming

noises of vehicles passing,

and the few words softly

spoken by the people who

wandered from place

to place all began

fading into one

conjugating,

almost inaudible,

meaningless sound.

All of it beating

irregularly, carried

by the whisper

of the wind.

A murmuration

rippling across

coursing

and dimming

further out.

Something entirely new

from the uncoupling

of its original

form.

A composition;

not losing,

not gaining,

only changing.

In these instances,

everything coalesces

into a singularity

with the soul.

And, I waited in all that for her.