i heard the voice rise and fall,
passion and hesitation twinned in its timbre.
i know but do not know it, this music from a distant room,
the words familiar but the accent foreign to ears attuned
to one bright particular song.
this voice belongs to the before;
i have only known it in the life after,
deepened and smoothed by sorrow
and brought back, like lazarus, from the dead.
now an uncertain harmony wanders in tandem,
cracking at the thin places,
fumbling to catch the nuance of the notes;
i realize it is my own.
