when your throat is lined
with new confessions
blocked by fear
of repercussions
take a detour
up the spiral stairs
through dark inner ear
and tarpit of tears
to the topmost floor
of utter vision
beyond the angst
above the friction
standing with one arm
tied at your back
with dreams surviving
a diet of lack
on the south wind is chance
flying with hawks
in the field hope
embodied as fox
study clouds as language
survey the plains
burn the chokeweed
float on the flames
– by Barbara Ford
