Movement

The world, beset by fire,

Responds with flood.

The tongue that dances

Waits for a stillness

In which the truth of what is said

Becomes real.

We listen with our hearts

Which rise and fall

To the tides

Of our desire

And the moon

In a crazed elation

Remembers what long ago

It wanted to say.

In stillness 

We pass over

The valley of 

Our lives

The long curve of its reckoning

Moves in stillness

And the tongue

Cannot trace the path

Of all that moves.