It seems the words I have grown so accustomed to using
began to lose meaning
the night we shared the full moon.
The extended moments I once captured in the pausing
of time have slipped from my fingers
in the fashion of water
washing clean the speaking of tongues.
I am hopeful the time will come when words
make sense once again.
Like truth spoken
from the revealing of secrets
hidden inside the recesses of vulnerabilities.
Or the way fire breathes down throats
unprepared for the voices of kings to be silenced.
It used to be commonplace that prophecy
spoken in the reciting of words on display
made appearances in the frequency of often.
In the suspension of stages and sounds
amplifying emotions broken down
from the pieces of a puzzle yet to be determined.
And though you have ciphered my words
And stored them in the canisters of our co-creation
I know you will return them soon,
And I hope to find them bathed in the depths
of the past lifetimes we have remembered.
Accompanied by meanings that have helped run their courseIn the delivery of time.
The finish line in near horizons.
The starting point in foggy mirrors.
I will speak once again, this much I know.
With subtle tones of your voice reflected intonation.
I will carry you along as I’m learning to let go.
For words find themselves back home
When they tire of running in place.
And the new moon will give her signals in disappearance.