WEBVTT

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"Where do words come from?

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From what rubbing of
sounds are they born?

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On what flint do they
like their wicks?

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What winds brought
them into our mouths?

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Their past is the rustling
of stifled silences,

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the trumpeting of
molten elements,

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the grunting of stagnant waters.

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Sometimes they grip
each other with a cry,

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expand into
lamentations, become mist

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on the windows of dead houses,
crystallize into chips of grief

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on dead lips, attach
themselves to a fallen star,

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dig their hole in nothingness,
breathe out strayed souls.

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Words are rocky tears, the
keys to the first doors.

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They grumble in caverns,
lend their ruckus to storms,

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their silence to bread
that's ovened alive."

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