before me
and without words,
clothed in stars and in stripes,
quiet fingers to lips.
To wait to move you
is to lie with words upon me
to heave them in slowly
and swallow them dry.
I wait to move you
wait
for the sentences to overcome you
for the paragraphs to engulf you
until you resign yourself to them utterly,
let your bones crack gently
under the weight of the acres,
that have waited for so long.
