a slim woman slants
water
from a squat
jug
into a glass
tumbler
every lie
hides
its truth
the thing
is not what
but else
there is a where
neither consonants
nor vowels
hush
there
the bell
yet to ring
already can’t
be un-rung
I sense
an unknown
silence
where
thoughts unform
float
and I wish you
a happy over
lap
by the creek
of slippy
descant
