….
We sleep in tongues,
interpreters notwithstanding,
paint indigo crosses in search
of new be
-ginnings. Your last dream
was stolen wild
by sunshine, rain, smashed clay
po(e)ts cracking. Our greatest
powers lie
in these smithereened places,
crescent scars under a full
-blown moon. I find I Am
at the end of myself; this
little light
of mine burns
a bright and scattered trail
through
the darkness.
..
Wordled.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
I can’t tell you how much I LOVE this…I think it is one of my absolute favorites of yours. Truly. The wordplay with clay po(e)ts cracking and the wisdom in knowing that, “Our greatest
powers lie in these smithereened places” and then the absolute beauty of, “crescent scars under a full-blown moon”—this whole poem is stunning, stunning, stunning!! Truly lovely from start to finish.
Everything CC said! I loved smithereen used as a verb. Not so sure about the line break between be and ginnings – it leaves the line up in the air.
Thanks, Viv. I liked the idea of being in search of a new “be.” 😉
I also like the idea of feeding your dreams gin. 😉
Ah, I’ve been wanting to use smithereens!
I find I Am – wonderful.
The first lines – we sleep in tongues – wouldn’t that be interesting. Or perhaps we’d learn a lot we did not want to know.
“smithereened places” is genius.
I’m in love with this poem.
Oh YES, I agree with C.C.–this will be a fave of mine for a long time–love it!
This little light of mine I’m going to let it shine..let is shine..let it shine..let it shine…as long it is there we are…
Man but you blow me away De…”stolen wild dreams”…so simple but so the way many dreams are too … love this…