TRELLIC MUTES

Rising
with a gasping hush
in resilient and radiant
subterfuge
of passion primed
excavation.
A word carries
upon the winds of the mind’s
eye
what silent, sorrow
lattice
surveys our chalice minion grunts
where life resides
as a comma
on the sentences of time.
God’s angel
are speed readers
though we try to
use large print egos to improve
the reading.