Poem 11, 2022

Pulse
(A love poem)

In the beginning was a pulse
that came right
before any breath
to birth a song or a word.

It throbs even as the music
and the argument
take a pause
from asserting themselves,

unfinished in their wish
to be understood.
It beats underneath
the bones.

It lives long
after the end, found
in another story
in someone else's voice

or wrist, like mine
when you touch me there,
you know years ago
and years ahead

we sail on the same boat
kept afloat
by this inaudible god.
No need to say it,

whatever we mean.
What matters most is passing
between us
unheard.

—Razel Estrella