Those Words Again
Words have rusted in fingers and mouth
I rub their red roughness, they crumble and cling
but lustre eludes and taste sharpens to metallic.
How can I restart the alchemical process?
Where can I find new words, fresh fords,
currencies not yet devalued?
Coins not rub-worn by collective wonder or greed?
I linger in surface,
afraid to leave skimming.
But dive you must to dig out pained treasure
in all its green-gold mottling
the metal out of its element now dried out to brittle snapping.
I’ve played too long with rhymes and prefixes
supped and sipped fêted and fated
but still I fail to breathe them back to life.
Then when I forget to look
thumb-grown, tendrils tumbling
from mouths in cascade of green.
Shoots spring forth
and I gape in amazement
surprise caught and filled
the wonder the shame.