poem: Except This Brief [honey and sting]

Last night dreamed someone dropped me so deep

I lost my words.

Alphabet letters floated in a bowl at my side.

I stirred the water with my finger, but could only make

soft animal sounds.

Other lives swirled in panorama around me.

There was connection, between my life and theirs,

between this muting, and some unfolding benefit,

but I could make no sense of it,

and in this, was comforted.

Later, when words returned,

when letters aggregated once more

into flow and form,

there was little to say,

except this brief report.

November

honey and sting