The words we say take different shapes,
my words are like the white caps of rapids,
blasting over the rocks, slipping into eddies,
clinging to your words rushing
by like the river's current, strong and resolute,
cascading without doubts over waterfalls.
I slip past like a fish looking for ocean's edge,
your words a dam turning me back
until I lay trembling with exhaustion on river's bottom,
my words urging me back upward
onto land where I slide like the belly of a snake,
sneaking closer to your words
quaking like a bird on a branch,
watching and waiting until you lift into the sky,
my words transforming into the evening mist
chasing flight, barely visible like the moon's light,
your words rising like a phoenix
fiery in the powerful dawn.
My words vanish in the melting
breath of morning
like a fog hovering over a lake,
and I breathe "I'm sorry,"
in the shape of a kiss,
your words open like the petals
of a rose and you breathe, "Forgiven,"
in the shape of a heart.
