Held Of All Our Secrets Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Wandering
whispering
carefully, in a
silence; in a sound
quiet as the sound of air
disappearing into the dawn.
In a darkness waning, holding the
morning without talking, without
touching; knowing somewhere
longing the promise through
the unbearable. This study
of darkness making melody
ciphering watchfully the eyes of
any person lost in an eternal doubt
in that trying moment now almost
content; safe in the gentle hands
of a passing midnight. We yet
wait, without warmth, in a beautiful
lying love; once held of all our secrets.