I hear a whisper on a spirits curve

In vast isolation's of exaggerated stresses

Become touched with fire

My mind adrift with a beautiful squandering

Of inclusion which acquires an uncanny capacity

To breed, to reproduce to have floatations

Such flotillas of words that sail across my horizon

An armada of silent sound for such as is their rebirth

These whispered words that dot my waves

And leave my lashes blinking at their boldness

For they are the words, they are, they are the words