I will speak. Yes I will. I will not, cannot be silenced. I am responsible for this seed landed here called Human
To root it through and through me till every pore breathes. That it break the sheen on the stuff of things.
That it scratch this varnished light a little. To trace what lies beneath it. That what be called gross or foul.
Be charged with clearer breath. For blood, sweat, salt are particles of radiance. And shall be known by their true names
And for what they really are. But how perfection leaks from cracks in the mosaic bowl of now. And how time
Drips constant through the porous jar of presence. And how you and I may realised each other as we fit the shards together.
Yes I will speak. I must. And of these things too. This plant that grows from our speech in joy here I name: Communion