Words That Breathe
You turn the page. The 7 a.m. sun
angles its rays to touch the Bible script
with sheen upon print, with light upon written light.
Ideas are lost if we should fail to find
in them new worth.
In you,
old words are scenting freesia whose
loveliness nurses the suffering air.
Mistakes have no breath here; the hanging heat
forgets to hurt; the young hopes seethe.
You grow.
The past becomes
the entry of the forgiving
present; and the future -
the unforeseen
journey of the vibrant, fragrant now....
The old words breathe.
