preserved in the amber
                              of emptiness
you become myth,
                        last refuge of mind
from matter,
                yet your matter lingers
in my flesh,
                rushing with my blood
through memory,
                   mingling with my words
as they fall
                into your silence.
O caress me again
                         with your consciousness,
that my emptiness erupt
                               in a volcanic voice,
lava of my longing
                          running down the slopes
of your shadow,
                   until they reach
the everlasting light,
                              where there is no need
for memory,
               where angels blind us
with their invisibility,
                                in which you become visible
            time no longer treading on you,
you a blessed enigma,
                             the holiest of my ghosts.