Vines

Morning glory vines—

whose tongue can relate the tale

of such twisted lives?

Space

the space between things

concealing a meteor

and a lizard’s tongue

Even though I know

every note of the old songs,

my tongue turns to stone.

April afternoon—

blessing the geraniums

with her untamed tongue

patching their torn nets—

the names of three fishermen

on the seagull’s tongue

an English learner

letting the name of blackbird

soften on her tongue

old storyteller

waiting for just the right words

to land on his tongue