Oh, my girl. How many rolling, spacious hours
I have spent speaking slowly, and sacredly,
vowel after calibrated vowel,
wrapping you softly in gossamer sheets
of whole words. And how wholly
we have delved into the noise of every
syllable, the pools of liquid consonants,
continuous and elemental. How
the books and poems and stories that we
sonorously speak aloud have couched themselves
inside the seconds and the minutes of the cowled
and still, slow hours.
