The Echo

the past
has a voice.

sometimes
it whispers —

sweat beads
on my skin.

i gasp.

my heart
thunders
in my ears.

the echo
is so loud

i mistake it
for the present.

and there i stand,

in the Gap,

between
what was
and what is,

i know
this voice.

but it does not
belong
to this moment.

i do not
have to obey it.

i are here.

now.

and the present
has a voice
of its own.