While We Dreamed

in the hours without a name distant notes return from somewhere beyond remembering light moving past leaves of some other season the sound of a voice almost yours there and gone as time dissolves days loosen their grip years scatter like wings fluttering into evening skies and yet still something of you remains a breath a turn of the head a familiar laugh crossing over this silence the way clarity at last does not answer but opens into landscapes all along and always waiting while we dreamed Phillip Wilkerson June 6, 2026