Do these delicately arranged
words still remember
how to talk?
Stich together scattered phrases
then fall apart and run amok
Can they still take
wild flights of fancy
and tickle the brightest star?
Take one look at the bewitching moon
and crumble in a dazzling shower
I want to know if they can still seduce you,
into an amoral dance.
Spin you into the wanton sunset,
then fold up and break the trance
Don’t they remember courting
the reticent night?
Until the morning light…
Can they still draw music
from just a stick and stone?
I wonder if they’ve been numbed into silence
or simply lost their way home.