Words create worlds
And fill them with life
You are a word
And so am I
Spoken into existence
Past, present and future tense
Each of us a word
With our own definition
And connotational leaning
And without which this poem
Would be missing a line
And also much of its meaning
For when love speaks truth
Fresh ink gives birth
To new lines in the poem
And new meanings between them
But when the pen runs dry
And the hour runs late
Let us not talk falsely
Let’s watch together
And wait
Because every word
That will ever be spoken
Is about to be born
(and later be broken)
But for now it’s quiet
And the darkness has passed
The pain of labor a thing of the past
Language blinks and takes its first breath
And the first word to be heard
From its shaking lips
Will be nothing
But a cry
