“She sent me words today
Whether they were apples, plums,
or fast food;
milk or coke or steak
or the simplest of grains;
whether they will stay or leave
I do not know;
to the unaccustomed tongue each taste
is sweet and whole and pure
and a smile follows —
the giddiness of cold forms next to warm fires.
She sent me words today, and they were not poison
thus I am refreshed.”

“But,” the perceptive reader asks,
“if her words are water to a dry throat
and home to a refugee
then where have you been?
And what have you been drinking?”

“Ah!”, I answer as a cracking mouse-trap,
“And if her words are now
then where are you?
And if each taste is sweet and whole and pure
and a smile follows
then what are you drinking?

“She sent me words today
words of necessity
not of the past;
words wholly present
so why let the past do what it did?
Or be what it was?

“It is true for some time I have been
a refugee
with no home
and a dry throat
It is true I have cried much
and struggled much
and there is something scary in this nutrition;
something alien
not because her words are foreign
— o, believe me, they are of the Earth! —
but because my feet have not touched ground for so long.
Why then in this moment would I
think again of empty space and distant stars?
I have Earth again —
and the stars you see
are not to be reached
you see
their light travels to me
you see!?

“Look, perceptive reader!
I want you to see!
Look! You who would understand words!
And understand love!
Do you see?
It draws all things near!
Let them come!”


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