Bop # Two

Thought I would give it another shot;

LANDSCAPE WITH ECHO

When your laughter sparkles and falls
soft as snowflakes, where does it land?
Why does it flitter in a way
I understand easy as my first language?
Still, there’s no manual on how to handle
a smile more musical than a marimba.

Sounds never dissipate, they only recreate in another place.

I pray my tongue will someday taste
the brown vowels of your shoulder,
will learn the pronounciation
of my emotion’s soft consonants.
Everyday, I practice whispering
those seven silver syllables,
trying to say your name
as something other than a prayer.

Sounds never dissipate, they only recreate in another place.

If I hand you my glistening heart,
Would you dance to its beat in the open air?
Some questions radiate like ripples across a pond.
Some splash and collect
like rainwater in a Mason jar
on the windowsill of the heart.

Sounds never dissipate, they only recreate in another place.