Before you were sick, you were ignorant. For all the words and sentences you had accumulated, your consciousness was blank; unmarked snow covering scarred earth below. Before you were sick, you were cocooned.

Words scatter 

             don’t scare them away

we tread with trepidation -- slowly, they gather

again

My soul

is the sea-skimming air

that whistles through young children’s shells,

mimicking siren calls

It is

the hurricane gusts