"Blended," "Syllables of Presence," and "Hearing or the _____________ of it"

Blended

                                                    Incorporated language of what my
                              father etched in
                              sacred forms of musical

                                                    interaction: sound, of its deity
combined with voice of mobile
teachings leading my physio
-logical becomings and
philosophies of rhythm
incorporating lesson
and specific demonstrations
of love and devotion to selves
exterior to my own.

                                                            To what my mother’s
                                                   done in continuing enhancing
                                                             my life, what it contains in
oscillating fabrics of warming into cold—
her voice a specific
timeline of remembrance,
that of leading my still
young wanderings through
cancer and familiar cave,
through sporadic days
of italicized language
finding what my father
said more toward my
youth than in the days
of watching crows expand
into an absconding
                                magic

Syllables of Presence

                                                                                                        Tomorrow,
an heirloom.  Timid,
  not yet authentic in the thinking of

                                                                             predetermined heritage.  My
grandmothers
were awakened through

        the thinning hall of my dislocated                     dream, during the same
night

each gradated promissory gray
expanded                                   into

joy of the brief encounter                                        of the reuniting of mirrors

speaking into our trilogies of absence

Hearing or the _____________ of it

Saying yourself, using an identity of my unspoken name.
Each syllable of my smile’s
hiding hurries to contort what
attempts listening to my vocalized
discoveries--

__________

brief these discoveries,
this jazz of freedom
writes tone into how
my speaking moves

__________

Talking is what braids our hearing.
Hearing is the dragonfly’s vertical\
disappearance,
mimetic avalanche
of my voice fading
into echo