me-oh-my-summer-handed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is a voice full

of sound and fury

wisdom resounding

and yet I doubt, I fear

I lose my way in the face

of another

 

I forget the magic of

my own miscommunication

when patiently attended

unfolds for me in meaning

clearer than another’s words spoken

 

Thus I’m drawn to wonder

why is it ever I hesitate

read every line as if it were my

body moving through the rhythms

fail to realize it is all written

inside

 

There is no message on the floor

no where to look but feel

the fabric of my self

crafted slowly

in intricate detail

a solitary motif

followed throughout

 

This is my work

I cannot show you what I do

I have to watch and listen

as the patterns are woven

out of my being

over time