words

mere words

a miracle
that there is any meaning
to these short strings
at all.

A promise
from our confused bright language
one small jump away
from truth.

They slide
out from our mouths and slow fingers
trying to connect
the dots.

And yet
a moment where connection does,
perhaps, occur
shines brightly.

The night
whispers to me one bright clear promise
we will all talk
again.

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