it is in our memory
when there were no words
but experience seemed to sometimes coalesce
into meaning, some sort of bewitching unity
which gave forth—birthed—words
and each word was a poem—marvelous, infinite
blossoming to a litter of words, sentences, stories
books and thoughts
of every unimaginable sort
and now:
there is something here
—many somethings—
sure, strong, active
for which there are no words
i cannot tell you
look.
breathe.
apprehend.
remember.
*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.
Fine poem, Luther. Just shared on FB.
Appreciate that, Susan!