A Strand of Sound

A Strand of Sound

Jesse Butler

I passed out and face-planted on my fourth full day of COVID.
You know this. I was feeling woozy, staggering for the couch,
then all was blackness. But before the trickle of sensation—
the painful pressure of the floor, the panicked footsteps rushing,
the focusing confusion, and the blood-taste in my mouth—
I found my name, a strand of sound, in your voice, my beloved.

I’d never known the secret strength that’s hidden in a name
till passed-out and face-downward on my fourth full day of COVID—
like how the name of Lazarus was called into his tomb.
Before I slowly stirred and rose up in our living room,
I found my name—stray strands of sound—in your voice, my beloved.
The voice was just as vital. Only you could call me home.

The only line of clarity was climbing back to you
through depthless, deathless stillness spreading without shape or scope
while passed-out and face-downward on my fourth long day of COVID.
I found my name. Its strands of sound filled your voice, my beloved.
They gathered up through darkness like a tender, tangled rope
when life was lost in silence and this love was all I knew.

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Jesse Butler
Poet & Public Servant

Jesse's poetry has appeared in The Orchards Poetry Journal, Cloud Lake Literary, and Darkly Bright Press. By day, he works on policy for the Government of Canada. You can read more of his work at darklybrightpress.com/jesse-k-butler/.

Photography by Alona Gross