His message arrived
“can you give this a look”
I tried to carry it
no song named
no path laid
only a handoff in midair
as if my ear were waiting
as if my time were open ground
the way a chair is pulled out
before you’ve chosen to sit
I held the message a moment
felt its edges, unmarked
not heavy by intent
but heavy all the same
and somewhere beneath it
a smaller voice —
my own, several years ago
stung by unsolicited advice
unsugared
so I soften the edge
I will listen, I say
when the hour loosens
but I cannot take notes
in this season of my own
I lose my way awhile
through the maze of doors
then find my hands again
and wish him well
without opening the door