Where the little things are hidden

I think of words as if

I were gathering fruit.

I look at their shape, whether

they are graceful to my lips

or not.

Playfullness in my vocal chords,

the imagery of a little God.

I smell curious the surface,

the fresh perfume of the signified.

Won't bite it till the mixture

of letters in the very air seems

delightful to my picky skin.

And the waves of mimicry, like fireflies

like fireflies begin to dance,

to make vows to my expresiveness.

Eager to taste, the fruit whispers

to my senses, and finally I bite,

I bite the outcome of my choice,

delighted by my voice pronouncing

flavours, the miracle of

communication.

Nurtured by vocabulary then comes

the pleasure of the signifier,

the knitting together of moonlight,

brain breeze and these words,

my words, odd words,

in this unusual cluster

of sensations that just like

sunshine, just like dawn

appear to remind me the simple joys

of writing, of life.

Sometimes I get to discover

where the little things are hidden.//