Ink carries so much weight
Embedded in its strokes and flourishes,
Laboring under our love and our war,
Straining under our disordered dis-ease,
Curbing our wildness to its purpose.
“Speech! Speech!” we thunder.
“Hear. Hear,” it rejoins in elegant serenity.
The dance of its law brings us to pointe
There our whirling chaos becomes a pirouette
An ecstasy of execution elevating our anticipation,
Stretching our horizons to the jeté,
The flight from one foundation to the next.
RootsRewound 