Wording

[Guest guest]

Wording

 

The word is in me and therefore with you. We are the

shape. The drum beating dream song of this timpani of time

and timeless vibration. The heart, a tattoo of reverberation,

thrummed by a Love blow, hit by hit. I am struck dumb,

and this striking sings me through in melody. Gutted

through, the fillet of wonder in the open mouthing.

 

This live long life and loving way, a leap into the unknown,

a knife held to a breast for the forfeiture of its voice. The

foreplay and the tease of a rhythm that chants the grace of a

euphony not my own. Full blown by the wind of change, and

a foundling of sound.

 

This word is not a thinking. Oh no, not a mental meaning,

made in the minding. It comes as a silence too loud to

manipulate in thought. It comes as a wind before an

avalanche, only the urgent tension before the impact. The

thump arrives, but there is no one here to feel it, only the

pressing of love, the pressure and the passing out of this

word.

 

We sing a new song. A word that has been arriving for ten

thousand years to warm up the gut strings of this music

making. Ever fresh and becoming. Rayed out as this instant

of wonder. All is shifting into this new-sprung age, melting

the mind sets with harmonious spears, as darts of transition.

A rendition of increase and marvel, rained within a sea,

punctured and pin-pointed by invisible splashes of purity, a

pour opening passion.

 

The body is enlightened by its word of light flowered within

it, and I am invisible in this sounding, and care not for any

grounding but this sphere of Gods wording love. The world

is swaying gently a dancing mayfly, a girl. Trees, rocks and

all of this cities constructs are dancing within themselves

with this word wend and shaping. This heart hollowing and

rivering through of its silence. To be the space of a word

that has its passage in the swift deluge of its meeting there,

and we are its shaping, and I its singing in these wordings,

this fleeting mold for you. And now the hearing, and all is

heart tilting, and all other words must harken to their

sleeping in just this. Just this constant coming of our

utterance in love.

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.