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




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