#893 - a voice

 

16.vi.22

893 

3.166

a voice

 

is from the skin and pulse

made to pure the air

consisting of just lines

such colour

 

cheeky little like the bird

 

some one mistaken for another

but each virtuosic

howling for the breast

 

all the pictures, timbre too

show where a voice has been and gone

 

the tragedy guesses

all choked up

last rattle

 

voices of clouds and thundering

a rhythm of pyramid dust

 

sounds just as

timber in the strings too

of leaf to breeze to wing

 

and whisper

 

the one that mends a heart

like that

 

so though we are at home

the voice is a distant kind of script

 

will you listen for it?

will you hear me now?