For Kriti
sometimes you hold words
suspended between your hands
like a transplanted honeysuckle
sprouting invisible routes
back to your throat
sometimes you toss words
high with your eyes
light like ping-pong
magnetic to clouds
and everyone waits for them
to fall in into the telekenetic place
you're conjuring with the rest
of your face
and sometimes you catch words
low in those blooming hands
steadied to your focused chin
and safe in your open mind
what I mean to say is
you make language
you make us
you make listening
into a shrine
to growth
to anticipation
to the miracle of response
****************
Indulge in Kriti's generous wisdoms
No comments:
Post a Comment