the words disappear,
shards of antler slipping thru fingers. they echo like bone.
throat empty; but head so, so full. something there is
magnesium-bright-hot and blinding
pulses like heart-pound while placid in mirror’s eye.
hold tight against the flutter; drink the worm’s-wood-green.
chase it with the honeyed-moon-beam – liquid amber on the tongue
singing to the Old Soul. Voice found, heart’s sound is thunder thrumming
spindle-on-sinew humming
‘Huuuuu’-of-life-breath a cinder-shower.
We set to shaping things; with our hands, our mouths.
our Words
working Power.