I am.

I am just consequence,
the ashes of a hundred births
heavy in my pack,
a silhouette made of mist,
fog braided into unpatterned thought,
I turn to see if I leave footprints
like the morning dew,
I hold out my hand to see
if it catches the soundless rain,
again the shadows fill with colour,
I know them, these shapes, these textures, your face,
I build my universe one more time,
the umbilical cord still tied to the emptiness,
there is nothing here
but reflections without mirrors,
nothing here but the outline of my desires,
I must leave now,
leave before the sunshine,
leave before the first shudder of wind,
leave and never return,
but what of your voice,
your voice made of smoke
from burning sandal sticks,
you voice that beckons softly,
your voice that is the moon melt
in my ear,
your voice that is both moth
and guilty flame,
your voice that keeps on
calling my name,
I am. Just consequence.