Water Words

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If you won’t mind
Lend me your drawl this late, tired eve’

Speak into these bones
As a balm

Be my guilty pleasure, if you please
The voice that simply won’t quit

Tuck me in as flowers in a field
Water me, hence, with your words

Clean

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See me
A junkie
Watery-eyed and shiftless

The voice in my head ruthless
Hope supply torn from my veins
Disoriented and in slow-motion

I know not what to do
But hunger and shake
And wait to be clean of you

Unrecognized

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Is my voice ever forever becoming quieter

A year ago, you’d be deeply troubled to hear it by now

Smaller, slighter, and far less full

More less of what you loved

Were I today

Speaking on the news

Inquiring in the produce department

Or campaigning next door

Don’t worry

Your ears would only find faint resemblance to some old someone

You’d not think to ask, “But who?”

Provoked

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I’m trusting you to make sense of all this
To put a rhythm to what you see

That’s my gift to you

Find your voice
Your meaning
Keep the hope that all will come alive

That’s your gift to me

Such steps will be as dancing
Call it collaboration

Picket Fences

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The white-washed picket fence has blown open again, inviting the varying voices that be

An opportunity, this open door, this moment, and I stick my snowy-white foot in its way

Ajar it will stay, for I’m bolder today and my eyes see the truth ‘neath the paint chipped away