Held in a Whole Breath
A poem is neither word nor whisper,
messengers wandering the bounds
and wastes of margins. They curse
wide as open plains, travel worlds
on a whole breath. Tumble hearts.
Swallow cities. Mangle and run
about as ruffians. And we rise our
eyes to their wisdom, caught voices
speaking for them. And we know
that a poem is everything.
for Miz Q Day 28