Some words turn my tongue to fire.
Others to water.
I seek the words that turn my tongue to living wood.
I know the wind speaks non-human words.
I wish to catch that wind and rub it through my skin.
If my tongue turned to living wood,
it would send roots down through my body
deep into the soil beyond the rocks.
That is how I will delve deep into myself
and split ill conceived granite-hard notions.
If my tongue turned to water, it would delve the earth, too.
But I fear drowning too much to wish such a thing.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney