Echoes

All my hopes are so transparent now,
So still has the night become.
And in the stillness I know that I love you.
The quietness tells me over and over.
But there is always an echo
From somewhere beyond,
Beyond my knowing,
Out of the invisible.
It too says, “I love you,”
And is speaking it back to me.
Not merely echoing,
But saying it to me.
And the echo that speaks
Makes reply to my hopes
As they rise, back out of the invisible
Into which I had unknowingly dropped them.
Up out of the boundless
Comes my hope for you,
Humming a song
That makes some part of me ache,
Because you are not here.
And the echo says, “You are not here!”
And there is pain in the voice.
But the pain in the voice
Is my own pain echoed back,
And if I could but sing exultant love,
The echo would be exultant too.

Tony Crisp

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp