Voices of the Dead

I have been lying awake at night, listening -
for your voice coming from a room next door
muffled and indiscreet, I try
to make out the words. But
however hard I strain my inner
ear, it only sounds like hushed tones
of someone speaking Esperanto or
Aramaic. At night, in the silence,
when I feel you closest, I turn
reaching for the dictionary
on the night stand only to find
an old sepia print in a cracked frame.