rest, dear heart, as you pound like the rain;
a gentle tap-tap-tap that crescendos into a downpour and floods with world with anxious murmurs
breathe, o lungs, and blow air into speech;
let words borrow song in sweet melodies, and stretch affirmations from quiet, humming tones
;
search and savour the sweetness hidden in bleak-heavy air,
through ash and melancholy and bile and phlegm and blood--
(what tiny shell you have there, holding safe your precious script of life)
--busy restless hands with creation and repair,
through word and song and line and colour and love
(how small can one be to change the world?)
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