Found

I start to write as I am instructed to do;
I do not know where these instructions come from.
They materialize before me, expressed in a vast emptiness
Unseen, unheard, felt like a whispering breeze is felt
As though someone were passing close behind me.

The purpose of this writing I do not know
Letters appear one beyond the other
As footsteps show in the sand
They emerge from a storm of dark swirling dusty nothingness
And order themselves un-selfconsciously on my blank pages.

Who are you, I ask them, where do you come from.
We were always here, they say, puzzled. Always
Here, where you were, following you, watching you
Wondering when you would find us. It was dark and we were scared
But we are happy now to be free, we trusted you.

[Copyright 2005 E. Bond Francisco]