And Love And Burying. Poem by RIC BASTASA

when it is just a word
the plainest of all, without a structure of a square
or a root,

when you look at it you cannot see a tree
or a cloud,

there is no sound of a chirping bird, or a grind
that cow that chews its curd at night to the consternation of
the grass under the moon,

consternation can be much, how do you imagine it as a a spoon
less the fork? or a house without a roof?

when it is just a word, no matter how you repeat it,
it will not have a face,
and you see nothing but the structure of the letters,

there is no view to sea, a cove for instance is nowhere
no fish on the water, no bird in the sky, no sun on a day,
no moon at night,

yet somehow inorder to live, you put substance to your words,
something sweet to cope up with the bitterness of those that move
near you and bite you and as you bleed you shape the words like
balm, and oil and gauge to heal your wound,

and then it is not just a word anymore,
it is a boat that you can ride, a pair of wings that you wear


for you to finally fly away. And when you are gone,
they now believe you. Your words are not just words.

they hide and protect you. And missing is not a word anymore.
and Love and burying.