Have you not known?
No, I haven’t.
Have you not heard?
I’ve been straining, my God…
Have you not understood?
This is what I’m trying to say, O Evasive One.
The winds are blowing,
but they do not carry your whisper.
The seasons are turning,
but your face remains hidden.
I’m sure that it’s me, not you
— how could it be you —
but still, I’m praying that
you care enough to break this silence.