Inversation

Letters are the pictures of my noise Syllables are the images of my effort To erase the silence of my presence Words are pictures of my thoughts ... the wise Hid them from the gallery's eyes. Tense, I could not stay invisible. I escort Them with meanings for the soft veil From where I watch your face become The bee laboring at the honeycomb. So many words on a broken, broken sail. Somewhere since Babel I seek my pentecost A living soul from an innate lump return And still the mountain before me prevails Its impotence against my formidable host Words, words are broken too when desire fails And in my heart tornadoes churn, and churn I must get past this, so surrender can be complete I must not believe I am that I may be I must think in the blind that I may see The footprints my wisdom each day delete.