the walls of metal, 
caves of steel, 
that we made warm 
with our four hands 
are now returned 
to what they were -- 

and there is nothing 
strange in this: 
that fabric, love, and flesh 
should make 
a living something 
out of mineral and dust. 

what is this light of loneliness 
that brings to bear 
significance 
of things that passed 
unnoticed but for those
who lived within this space? 

tell me again 
why everything 
is singing in 
the heart that was 
and calling out for someone
who won't answer