Sunday, April 12, 2009

Raised Indentations

The letters drip with the thick,
inky juices of the memories
that embossed themselves upon the page.

I run my fingers over them feeling
the indentations covering the page,
staining my hands with the colored ink
of the soul pounded brail.

I can feel your touch upon every sheaf,
insistent, deliberate,
carving your mind’s symbols
upon the outside world so that they
may rise up under fingers such as mine
to convey your impressions.

You love with those words, and hate,
and bind together one reality upon another
so tightly they interweave themselves into one vision.

This is your talent:
the seduction of minds through language.

I read your letters
and it’s as if
I am reading for the first time,
an inscription upon the inside of my mind
in a language sweet and smoky as incense from ages past.

There is power in these words,
as happens with very old things,
and I read the spell convinced
I am safe from the eyes of the wizard.

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