words that I don’t swallow
come out as warbled waves
that leave nary a ripple
on conscience or memory.
words, that leave no mark
on the banks, far-flung islands.
but here in my clenched-fist prayer
I know that someone has seen it
regardless. perhaps a fisherman?
a kid skipping stones across the
surface or the fish that doesn’t
know of sky. that’s how & why
I know: that waves settle down,
that there thrives creatures
microscopic yet infinite-
that I am not alone.
that waves don’t die.
that two ripples may
meet in the middle:
all of these ripples
are enough for my
small, cloistered,
heart – my tiny,
delicate, soul.

—

got them kanye vibes. wish i copped some tlop merch from the popup store but I don’t have that much $$ to throw around. they say gildan sucks anw