Remnants of Enlightenment

In the night I hear you whisper.

It’s as if a bodhisattva
lost the light within the cold
and shivered.
At the moment where he numbs,
is when you take hold
and I succumb to great emotion.

Whereby the night
no longer moves but foams
at the mouth, bobbing. Waiting
for my first step
to understand my perfection.

And your whisper resonates,
knocking framed calligraphy
off the wall, and there begins
my flight.

There we fade into the night.