For M

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