Let not the words of my silence
engulf you with thoughts
that I am gone —

I am here

Despite the absence
of the warmth of my palms
upon your face

I am here —

Though my song is only
palpable in the coolness
of the summer breeze,
caught in the scent
of flowering meadows

I am here

Through the stealthy moments
while the verdant
leaves turn
from emerald to garnet,
topaz to platinum,
silver to earthen dust —

I am here,
I am always here.

by D. G. Vachal © 2014

Photography by Valery Chichkin – “At the End of the Day”