from the still
words are fluttered
into life
key by key
come from silence
into something
more than voice –
much more
than me

poems spread
as bees to honey
moths to flame
I don’t know how
what am I
but a means becoming –
another life
is grace allowed

prophecy
or misplaced longing –
from the start
I can’t recall
where I was
when first I noticed
verses
without voice
at all

. . .