Words&Dirt

The next word is the word of wonder––
the word we wait for,
and wait again.

The next sigh is the sigh of smoke––
the sigh set off by
our soft trigger.

The next call is the call of condolence––
the call we put off,
just forget it.

The next leap is the leap of love––
the leap we look to,
eyes wide.

The next shape is the shape of sorrow––
the shape that teaches,
invites us in.

The future holds us, folds us, molds us
In it we become––
Foaming brew,
and other shoe,
Half-bloomed rose,
and garden hose,
Bird’s morning song,
and sing along,
Forgotten tome,
and river stone.

What we cannot see is where we will be.

The next step is the step of solace––
the step we long for,
and fear.