Words can mean anything
in how they’re said,
in how they are thrown
like rose petals on a bed
or rocks that strike and wound.
Words are the tools that
open shut doors
or quietly soothe
the human wounds
with the slide of
a tongue or the
grip of a pen.
Words form the ideas
from inner to the outer seen,
and launch us into eternity
and pull us back
to earth again with a
flow and surprise,
expected but unique.
Words reveal the frailty
and the divinity of being human,
and words live in the crevices
and the expansive
spaces of universes
created and destroyed.
For all that we are
and all that there is
exists in words
that form our fictions
and carry our dreads
and reminder us constantly
about the shortness
and the unfairness of life.
Words exist on a page,
on a screen, in a dream
about what is possible
and what can never be true
except in the stories
that we create with words.
3/8/2017