Speak To Me Again

Out of the land,

a black eagle flies away

from a cluster of clouds.

Upward.

Strokes of slim white.

Ribs of the sky.

In the uncovered confessions,

I see my sin.

Thousands of words.

No longer in fear

of your probable reticence,

l revive and talk to you again.

Something is coming down and near.

Strips of clouds.

Strings of our prelude.

A spine of our mother tongue.

Speak, speak to me.

Low, slow and below.

Words are the only substance

we have on ground now.

Speak pre-verbally.

Speak as babies.

Cross our lines as yarns of heaven

waving in and out

of our suffering flawless souls.

And in words’ grave,

silence will envelope us 

soon.