8-9-17
Even when I speak
I ask for silence,
its safety the envolture
of skin and feathers
that exonerates.
Bird calls are given human words
for ease of memory.
“Oh me, oh pretty-pretty me!”
So we can select it out of the void
and know it by voice and plumage.
Silence doesn’t always mean listening,
but lately, at night,
I hear geese.
Something is ready,
like a blister just beneath my skin.
