Oh, if you stumble and come crashing down on words;
then quickly gather their hurt together
to tear the light into colours of saints...is that still sinning?If in the beginning was just the Word,
when was it torn into Whys?Who fell on them, drowning the darkness
tainted with stars,
into the legends of maternal light?Like an imperfection.Who dropped us on this
journey to was?To feel.
To see you glowing
hidden from touch?Always the Silence of the present.Gazing with awe
at what you always were,like a torn word briefly needed.
Like a sin.The Silence of Tiffany.
The Timid Making: a Strangled Trilogy
published