Ping

Words fall from her mouth like leaves
sentences pushed off the cliff
shatter into sound on the hard
surface at the bottom

I go into this quarry picking stray phrases
piecing them back together nouns,
verbs, past tenses and future projections
– once used for plea and accusation –
form new thoughts at the base of language

the poetry of rhythm
sloped delicately against
the white receptive
surface of song

I switch off

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