Folds in the wind, the wake of rock and pen
Oh you mystery: can the mind fit in the brain?
The drop of a jaw
The click of a tongue
Larynx and lung
To etchings in clay of glyphs and cuneiform;

(We never really gave it a second thought... Or even a first come to think of it...)

Once the "farmer", not the "man-on-the-farm"
Our ziggurat bricks all baked up from the ground

But that day she fell like cold water on my comfortably ignorant skin
I knew our life defined our words unalike...
When I woke, we were smoke on a tight rope afloat on the notion:
"if all of this is arbitrary, why does it happen at all?"
And It's been years of my trying to make sense of one week

I didn't know it then, but that verse she penned -I found in her log- would ruin me:

"Oh dear heart, locked away, given but description of a window to light your way
Would dare thee bell, a song to sing? Take care, the way out is more damaging."

One says a word, one intern, interprets it...
But when unique things use generic means... is anything ever being said?
"It's the gaps between the waves that make the tones we hear realizable."
(trite...)
But every crest is aching to shake to be as one!

R
E
C
O
N
S
T
R
U
C
T

Their falling now
Their calling out
To know their worth

The parts Ache for resolve
MY parts ache for resolve;
To know their worth!