the living


The Living



Wears the tongue down

The very nature of speaking

Drawing breath



It’s the living being retold on worn tongue

Frayed vocal cords

The overuse

The redundancy of words

In the very beginning words

Birthed life

Sparked light

Gave darkness home

Wet to water –

Fins to fish, wings to birds

All birthed from language –

And then there were those who sought to climb into the mouth of God

Not content with miracles

The divining of dove bones, the reading of tea leaves, the blood of sacrifice –

Silence the language of God

Is not the balm sought and so tongues are worn with prayer, exhaltations, the living

The repeating

The recitations

The calloused fingers from the rolling of prayer beads between finger and thumb

It’s the living

That beseech

Plead – weave amulets into prayer shawls, bury afterbirths, wash the bodies of their fallen in blessed water and scented oils

Only the living

Wear thin the brick steps of temples

Only the living

The living practice the ritual of


drawing breath


The worn soles of language walking across the bridge of tongues

Only the living

Speaking endlessly

Finding no comfort as the


In solance


The language of God





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