Your inhabit the words that follow
each other like fingered beads
on a rosary, each in its turn,
the black folder your only shield.
Then comes the unconscious gesture
of your left hand, like a wavelet
in the river of your life, something
to bob over in the current of days,
That weightless instant when you rise
into the light of hopefulness, and breathe.
You animate the words that follow
each other like children lined up for lunch,
And when you touch each one, in turn,
it shines like a silver fish in the sun.