Who else is here? I ask
Who are the others inhabiting my space, my place?
There is a thrum of presence here, of pieces of life left in corners.
Many are bits of me – memories coloured with time.
There are other people too.
Souls who have visited, passed time, made music here,
but there is someone else too, though I sense this person in other places like
rivers, but here they are stronger, more definite, as though repeated experience
has made them spread their influence throughout the room, leaving definite signs
of the ‘other’, the unknown, and I say to them, ‘stay, or if you must go,
come each dawn to visit this place on the verge of consciousness.’