With what words do I write
this quiet madness
encircling my head
this storm, an avalanche,
but also a halo of phrases.
Rippling and swirling
fragments of language.
some in the mother tongue
some in this living tongue
some from the appendix
of the married tongue
Perhaps they have settled
into that one sacred word,
Home.
Perhaps they have built
with their shimmering selves
a Kaleidoscope
now a fort
now a palace
and now, on your chest, a temple.
