It was a year of words
So full, that some spilled over
To be corralled into formal shapes
to half-forgotten sediment
breaking down letter by letter,
fragments landing rich and fertile
covering the leaf litter words of rotten men
to re-emerge with the surprise of exclamation marks
punctuating shoots of joy.
A year of multiple rhythms
And odd ellipses of silence
three dots heavy with their own message
and closing doors of full stops.
Words infused by marching characters
softly changed as if brushed against pollen
rhizomic webs of reciprocity
appearing different in the slanting light
crystallising new perspectives.
If you mark the good years
with wide concentric rings
then this book should have gaps
For new pages
where you can see the grain, if you look hard enough
White and waiting
with ink soaking through like sap
We are here, We are here.