Where Words are Loudest
Certain things are sweeter too. In not form, but spoken. And in
Notions of sponged madelines,
The way papaya feels on your lips as word, as juice. Sounds in both.
A bare wrist
Before the blue beaded band; frosted glass falls to meet heeled palm.
Where Indian progressed partition cannot simply be, ‘stead is
Charioted by birthed punctuation, in limbs formed from full stops meant as a whole.
And as the ellipse of grown body; language.
I’ve lost the subtlety of Literature
Poems are swallowed with sharp wholeness, now
Insignificant wonders are trampled for the bigger picture.
At a table for relished discussion and fine toothed combing,
My words are written.
Now, it’s time until each of us has forgotten why or how
We’ve said them at all.
But my delicate temporaries have place
Even now. Especially now.
Belonging under magnified glass eye
Not in elbowed, winking
Where here, you are still enlightened discoverer.
Where it is value I am most sure of.