When our poetry filters out our mouth
The breath catches in our throat
Right above thin collarbones
As if gasping for air
For that next word
That next beat
That next prolific thing
To ripple off the tongue
Like a wave crashing into sand
Like a newborn baby 
Screaming its first cry
As if air cannot come deeply
Or quickly enough
To fill that space 
Of needing
To push the next words out
From my mouth
From my guts
From my soul
But I cannot find it
Without gasping in
So deeply
So quickly
To find the next pattern 
Of words
To articulate my thoughts
That run more quickly
More deeply
Than the words from lips
My mind like a child
Running through wildflower fields
That same child
Small, short, and stunted of breath
To not know yet
The immense power
Of her spoken word
Eventually helping the words escape
So rhythmic and enchanting
Magic from within
Something so beautiful from the inside
Out
My breath so much more grand
Larger
That those words 
Than the weight of my words
From mind to mouth to world
So deep
So quick