I am wearing all this history:
every letter tied to an army of lead kites.
Every kite tied to a nation of signs.
Every sign pulling a definition.
Words are sails only working with the wind of meaning.
On mountain peaks, the plates beneath;
when they move, we move,
though all we see are the tree tops, or the white snow.
Explain the earthquake to the redwood or the foxhole…?
You could lose your mind.
Come gather creatures, all you crawling things.
Tonight we make fire, tonight we shout up with the embers!
Come gather mud and leafs! We'll wake this forest tonight
with the sound of our hoofs!
No one will make us forget.
No one will ever tame us.
From wild we came,
And wild we'll go.
Grapheme
Christoper Noyes
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