Untitled #1

A quick little piece written whilst waiting for the bus. Hasn't been revised at al.

A conference call
To a shivering black Moses
Spoken through
A child with no tongue
Who speaks only stutters
But sings with such delicate harmony
The kind of harmony
The trees sing to each other with
In colours
In numbers
In words
Rarely
If they choose
For the message is not clear
But empathy is
Cut down. Built up. Rise and fall.
No one else knew that kind of struggle