Fire in this fine soil
makes me feel unworthy
to have ever heard your voice.

Self deprecating delusions
empathise me to you
as if you’ve never heard your voice.

Surefooted and unhinged
in a world of words
that tumble out of the walls.

A pick me up for certain,
let these rocks drench my tongue;
raise the refraction to that moon.

Placed in time that yields
not to you, let’s be children
forever and this fine, cold day.