Archivist's note: This poem was inspired by the pose in
this picture by Faid, from the 2003 Fall Moments of Rapture contest.
Falling Echoes
by June Lee
It's empty.
Empty, save the wooden tiles.
Empty, save the closet door.
Empty, save the midnight air, flowing in unseen swirls.
I can see unlit shadows, dancing on the floor,
And dust mites hiding in plain sight.
The curtains flail, though the window is closed.
It's as if the thin, clear wall does not exist.
Outside, the pit-patter, neverending.
Echoing.
Singing in the skies, watering the wind.
Shades of clear.
The warmth of the tea eludes me.
I think it longs to be free, the way I long for you.
Instead, we are stuck with each other, trying to provide
Ample comfort
For the night.
I want to open the window, but it doesn't open.
I don't know who designed it --
You'd say such matters are trivial.
You stole that line from me.
I miss you.
The only light comes from the buildings next door.
It's almost romantic in here.
But the candles are missing,
And the wine,
And you.
I turn away, back to the rain.
The curtains still.
And I hear more pattering, heavier pattering.
They grow softer as they grow nearer, slower.
Filling the emptiness, larger than life.
The tea finds its companion in the night as I find mine,
In deep, dark emotion.
Hands in hair, sparkles of orbs, a faint blush, a toss of spice,
And you.
Dark, mysterious night,
Trapped in itself.
Salvation comes from the rain,
Its prisms reflecting the world.
All things fall -- why not in beauty and love?
The End
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