It was ever your voice, always
That voice,
Soft and gentle, a trickle of freshness
In a dead place,
Soothing as the bag balm Mother
Smoothed on wounded calf legs.
That voice, your voice,
Without words,
even while speaking other words,
Always said to me
I won’t judge you,
I could even love you,
I see you, yes you.

YET

You seemed much to hide,
Holding your schedule askew
From others, which
I often wondered of, yet
Even standing nights before
Your door,
My heart found no Faith
That you lived in love of solitude.
For I, I lived hating my solitude,
A solitude of loneliness.

Thank you sweet Andrea,
For bringing me that saving voice,
For giving me your soft hand.
It felt so right in my hand.
I heard your stories with gratitude.

I see you Andrea, I do.
I see you.
I feel I could love you.
Let me try.