Love’s counterfeit, I spit you out.
The name will my closed lips more beautifully pronounce.
Meek original, unmixed with doubt,
Whisper in my heart your holy sounds.

The sound without the substance round us rings.
The clock ticks out its millions,
Choices sating mouths like worms in desperate baby beaks,
Nourishing not when it feeds but when love speaks.

Within these inward caverns speak you do
And each syllable I may discern.
Your every word I know is true,
I may become as you to earn.

(Features image by Judith Labelle)