Poem 23

Words beneath a voice
do more than spell their syllables
in open face and letter,

and more than marks could tell—
the iridule and register, unfettered,
that not even the boldest Courier has strength to carry.

Words beneath a breath—
        as the larynx trembles—
exact of strings and cords
a sharp rainful patter— fatter
still and growing ever fatter:

(trailing)

a placating upheaval
pushed caringly
        past the throat and palette
        and
                through the teeth—

Reminding of lull words and things—
the gossamer splendor a falling breath between—

as the soul pours its warm ring into the air,
like a coffee cup bleeds an umber ring

on the snow-white paper.