Hours blow heaven below these clouds.
A rain drop ripples force in circles to shore,
but also shakes the depths.
My throat and sediment soft sniffed my throat in silt.
Some spiders weave below the dock near the shore.
Some in the bushes away.
When through the orb weavers web,
will it remember my throat vibrating with words?
I shook to tell you.
Love has no why.
Void, void by embracing void.
The spilt arm nightly the Milky Way
proves all of it already done.
Here it is, a star pristine in darkest ink.
It is a star none before now have seen somewhere
it trembles in light as now dark to be
seen against a page's white.
Breath and speaking it might blow it out.
How you learn to see it is its name.
You have a nerve.
And nerves will flame at touch, touch the page.
Speak it star.
It's there in the pine outside the window.
Oh, sparrow speak the birds.
Oh, until full breath runs out.