pi & anne

We render feelings
into words,
need even more words
tracing words, those words.

Then they
(and we)
become
but thinner selves,

or arms and legs
that greet, wave at the world
in waves,
the windless things.

From fingertips
the dandelion seeds fly
upward:
what we’ve been creating
in the nameless lands.

Meanwhile
lips closed, not sealed,
nor empty are the cavities of our mouths,
on our tongues our patience spreads
beyond a serif font and vowels.

Far in the west
the crimson sun sets
in our eyes
we say goodbye just thinking,
thinking compliments.