Sitting in darkness I murmur the psalms
my forebears have sung since moon and
planets were younger, brighter than now.
I watch at the doorposts and wait, senses
alert for a change that will signal your
passing. I lean to the rhythm of breathing,
reach for your pulse, suffer the cadence
of silence and words that are meaningless
save in some secret recesses of soul I can
no longer reach.
"The Lord is my shepherd. He leads me . . ."
where . . . where . . . I do not know . . .