To Unlived Life

Always at the door, or tapping

at the window, it calls:

“Please let me in.”

In kisses and poems,

where unheard words

write unsent letters,

it calls out to me,

from books

that fall off shelves,

opening at pages

where phrases stand

like a wink caught sideways

on Goya’s Dona Isabel

as she sways her hips

as if to say

“Come, play with me.”

It beckons from silences,

between n…