In the beginning was the word and it was borne on the breath of Spirit. Just how that spark of spirit is born within us, how it is nurtured by our impressions, sculpted into phrases, how it is shaped-- its rhythm and language-- remains unknown. At what moment does it slip from our lips, does it flow as a river from our hearts, ink from our minds. How exactly does it unfold on that brilliant horizon, that full moon of revelation. 

she searched for trees
to see birds in
her objective was simple: 
cheap, thick birds
     cut out of
monuments
she made a rope

to touch with

to touch that tree

it was a habitat of drapery when the light turned on…