Word Formation

Wind under sky

With no shape
Blows in tomorrow's dust
An advance of rain.

Words cannot frame

The scant origin of cloud.

Nor moisture turn sense

Into utterance.

In swollen mounds, 

The unspoken words

Of earth write the earth's 

Long poem.

From the bare ground,

From grassland, desert and hillside,

Comes silent birth:

Another syllable is born.

Were I to catch it,

Wrap it,

Speak a molten word of it,

Then it would carry on forever

Till the pages of books,

The tattered leaves

Tomorrow makes,

Fly back upon the wind

That made them, 

Droplets rising to heaven,

Dry thoughts unwithering

In their resurrection's flight,

Upward 

Like sparrow-wings

Birdsong ascending

The uttered voice 

Rendered 

Rain again

Or cloud.

© BH 2012 [17/10]

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Something about the way poems come into being. Not the first attempt at describing this ineffable process. I think I'll gather them all together. It might end up making sense. God forbid…

2020: added image - based on the poem Every 3rd Word made up of every third word of this one…