29 September 2013
I thought I had more words today, but they’re all tangled up inside, so just one word, over and repeated:
A word is a hand holding ice –
as it melts, it forms veins.
A word is a vein within stone,
a small seam of something
that glitters with all its might.
A word is a broken star that still shines.
A word is a thought committed to air,
a wondering aloud,
a tireless seeking
with no answers.
A word is your word, your bond,
your mark and your reference.
A word is what hums when
the iron is hot and struck.
A word is my face, twisting and careless.
A word reveals sides,
reveals many sides,
and water with gem-stone clarity.
A word is the water that cuts
through dead stone and old earth.
A word is a hand holding ice as it melts.
A word is the vein of thought on my face.
A word is what hums, and what holds
and still shines.