Words are not objects
exactly, but people perhaps.
Children, reflections of me.
Laugh, skip, sing, jump, joy
pour word on word
then mist through wild entwining rivers rushing and roaring through acres of time.
Words are not objects exactly.
Pluck words from the air
twirl on a finger,
arrange on a page.
Hard fast hard hurl down
change white to black
then stretch to long unending sentences twisted and curved in a spiral of sound.
But words are not objects exactly.
Stars glisten like stones
where they lie on the lane.
Tread soft on their fragments.
Shine dark night shine dark
use stars as stones
that plunged through rain and yellow porchlight to shimmer rebellious in galaxies gone from the sky.
But words are not objects exactly.
I stoop, I consider and pick one up,
put deep in my pocket
and no one can take it.
Mine mine kept tight mine
growl fierce and smile,
the world is mine with oceans for bathtubs and wide hills to wander in widening circles of thought.
But words are not objects exactly.
Love, love, LOVE!!! This makes me feel…. excited, dangerous, like the world is mine…. if only we can capture those words that dance like raindrops. Thank you! You made my day with this post.
Wow. You found a way to make these words sing. And not just sing Yankee Doodle, but the Doxology. Or the Hallelujah Chorus.
Been thinking about you recently and hoping the words are lining up for you as you work toward your book deadline.
Blessings,
Gina
Simply beautiful and I loved the photos that went perfectly with the words :)