The Breath of Babes

The breath of babes

parched to palms in prayer…

In this space I seek solace

a fluidity in the form of reinforced fragility

the muteness of language

as ghosts of gargantuan proportion

There is a battle in “bridge work”

above the raging in what lies below

in and out of flow

Something moved...

a cold call wager

Parallel persuasion

in a paradoxical parody

comedic charisma

and the absence of chivalry

in courts and candor

a contingency

that dares to break free

caring carefully

shaking stories to see in clarity

Taking tolls

in tokens

that speak of treachery

a treason of triumphant capacity.

Four moons too many...plus 2

an utterance

circling between you

backwards as far as I can stretch my heart open

to a point on the line that reaches

behind to all of grey’s value

breathing and pulling up

from the lowest part of my spine

from that paradox of shifting time

to a front locking gaze

that speaks in rhyme

The breath of babes

parched to palms in prayer…

In this space I seek solace

within the peeling of each layer

because there is something that moves

from me to you