Logos
I taste the air
around my lungs,
reaching for divinity
a lone sparrow
that carries
a sacred missive,
in a perfect language
words that spoken together
stir hearts as one,
bringing all
to a place of knowledge
immovable
but traveling fathoms,
only ever touching
on the profound
never
(too much too soon)
Augurs will pronounce
peace to multitudes,
as in the opened wings
of a dove,
the first scribe of truth
lets one feather fall
the first contact
in the language
of the birds
was pure silence
that marked the depths
trilling a passage
to peace
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