Words slip through the boundaries

of light. Between fences

and past sleeping cats.


Words are the strength of action, the

curator of museum imaginations.


Words are fathoms, the levels of

thought, the passage between mountains,

the stillness of lakes.


Words are the home we comfort in,

the language of warm blankets that

cover the soul.


Words are the dawn of day, the weather

we walk through, the night we cry into.


Words fill the ears with wisdom, count

passing cars and shape the sound of hello.


Words follow us with the dreams they

possess, releasing parts yet to appear.



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