I wanted to float away from this page drift to an island 
in The Mississippi a flooded house I’ll never really 
sink in 
I noticed how out of phase I feel every time I hear 
a particular sound spoken, 
something like that harbor bell 
that strikes everyone a little differently 
Nameless its mystery remained a force to resist 
until one day I believed it was spoken directly to me 
and that power paradox rang true like 
relaxing for a punch and leaning into the wind
 
and I placed that sound in a circle 
on a page in the back of my Book. 

When the season changed I read a mystical travelogue 
and saw for the first time the face of that sound 
on the lips of someone climbing a mountain 
and knew I had only heard translations  
I began wondering obsessively 
about its beauty its true meaning 
I realize now that what is so hard 
for me to face in these words 
is everything but 
the third letter of that alphabet.