There’s a hole in the floor I can’t not see;
I have to inch around it when I walk.
There’s a voice that will never answer me;
I feel its silence every time I talk.
Sometimes I just pretend the hole’s a lie.
Sometimes I stand beside the edge and stare
Down at the emptiness, and think: “If I
Could see the bottom, would I see you there?”
But what I keep forgetting is, this hole
Is not the awful trap-door you fell through--
It’s you. It’s what you are now. And my soul
Knows that there’s only one thing I can do:
Pick the deep hole of you up off the floor
And hold you till you’re part of me once more.
Copyright 2012 Matthew J Wells