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”

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