Not leaving

I heard the silent sound —
something spilling deep
inside you
My arms reached out to hold you —
you, out of reach,
lying in a cold room,
not leaving.
Not leaving. That was what I wanted to say, and:
How does it feel? In the dark
night, as you lay down your head,
how does it feel? Not leaving, staying
where you were born, staying
with all the ghosts. I left my ghosts
but new ones grew, with silent spilling sounds,
slithering through the ether, the unreal
ether… from you
to me, from there
to here, and
back again! and
back again! and
how does it feel?
Oh, how does it feel?

What do you think?