I had a prentice, once. She came across the river, bright belief like starshine, sharp. I taught her names; to listen, still; how words quick-hum inside the oak, how they can build and howl like lightning splits the sky, and spill. We strung them fine on heart-string rope to make a blackbird song. She’s gone. To have her back! but autumn spells and heartsease hold her now.
A little blank verse for the Yeah Write May poetry slam.