Speak

 Lips nibble the end of a pen

    as thoughts swirl

              like acrobats

       so close to the edge.

I can feel the tension

                building;

            fingers trembling

                          to tell a tale

      like the ebb and flow of waves,

            like the static between us;

the fine gold thread

     connecting each individual

       to another source of light;

                                of love.

Be my intercessor,

                my bridge

     to the constellations

             your words,

          beckoning my voice

  to spill truth

      softly,

one syllable at a time.