Folds in the wind; the wake of rock and pen O you mystery: can the mind fit in the brain? The drop of a jaw The click of a tongue Larynx and lung To etchings in clay of glyphs and cuneiform; * * * Once the "farmer", not the "man-on-the-farm" Our ziggurat bricks all baked up from the ground But that day she fell like cold water on my comfortably ignorant skin I knew our life defined our words unalike… When I woke, we were smoke on a tight rope afloat on the notion: "if all of this is arbitrary, why does it happen at all?" And it's been years of my trying to make sense of one week I didn't know it then, but that verse she penned--I found in her log--would ruin me: "O dear heart, locked away Given but description of a window to light your way Would dare thee bell, a song to sing? Take care, the way out is more damaging." One says a word, one in turn interprets it But when unique things use generic means…is anything ever being said? "It's the gaps between the waves that make the tones we hear realizable." (trite….) But every crest is aching to shake to be as one! R E C O N S T R U C T * * * They're falling now They're calling out To know their worth The parts ache for resolve! My parts ache for resolve ...To know their worth!