Among the material that is you,
(breathing, body, footsteps)
lingers more, the you that has no name.
I’ve grown accustomed to its gentle meaning,
sensing you from every distance
not just by your voice.
Out of the abyss that is time
you will be heard in echos,
in a breeze, in whispers;
I shall remember you
by body, by mind, by affection
as I hear footsteps moving on.