Is all she would say
In wind enfolded,
Unhurried I could wait
At a gate fifty years ago as now—
By Parsee Tower of Silence with
Wet white walls transitioning souls.
The evening crashing in memory’s echo,
At times still, like the grip
Of a wrinkled hand—
Lengthening life in silence
As it would have been
When consumed by words.
“I write because it helps me find myself.” – the writer