Watchword
A poem
After ten times repeating "please" I am no longer sure what I mean. My lips stream language that splashes over my teeth. I don't speak; but rather, I've become water that babbles the green. The many ways I say "wait" start to catch and stay in place. I hear a cave and its echoing, echoing, late. Foot steps heavy with weight as they print and state their fate upon fate upon fate. "Love" hovers over my tongue like holy ones. It's become a drum, a hum, in the air above my blood. It lifts and lies light upon the tips of dove-wings. Airfoils thrust and join, down and up, in the folding puffs of what-ofs. And so, I find, I'm of mind to be silent.
"Love" hovers over my tongue like holy ones. Yes.
Dear Zane,
Beautiful work. The impact of that final line, short, separated, not buttressed by two other lines to form a stanza consistent with the previous three, alone. The sonic aspect of this work -- assonance, internal rhyme, repetition, complement nicely the synesthesia of verses like "I've become water that babbles the green" and "foot steps heavy with weight as they print and state". As a reader, I find then that the sonic quality emerges from this sensory convergence, which underscores the importance and power of that final line: silence.
Thank you for sharing :)
Peace,
Timothy