White Space

White Space,

lend but a word,

but a curl to slide through,

lend but a light

to be blinded by the moon on your finger. 

Voice broken in my throat, 

hoarse, sore, this voice

broke, muted, voice in my throat,

. . . if in an ear a spring, silver, 

shiny as a ring, should sprout,

voice, hidden in my chest, if. . . 

the tongue, twisted like a noose,

should spin before it learned to sing,

bind me, brand me, put me in a bag,

send me to the sea, 

drag me in the dirt, break my twig in three, 

lock me in a room and throw away the key

but let this. . .