We scar it with our own lettered shine, crescent
it with moon fingers. Stairway it in stars. A it.
B it. See it through new eyes. Vowel it deep;
steep it into some semblance of silence. We
tornado our hands, hurricane these quiet
walls and wonky it all into something we
just might keep. Tabernacle yourself a
moment, a cool, unfettered mile. I think I’ll
Whowhatwhenwherewhy this muddled Mother
Earth, and haiku this bramble-broken sky.
Can’t help but verb the wor(l)d. Come play, over at dVerse.