words
mere words
a miracle
that there is any meaning
to these short strings
at all.
A promise
from our confused bright language
one small jump away
from truth.
They slide
out from our mouths and slow fingers
trying to connect
the dots.
And yet
a moment where connection does,
perhaps, occur
shines brightly.
The night
whispers to me one bright clear promise
we will all talk
again.