Word

Fleeting body 
   of blood’s warmth 
   lung-breathed air 
   damp in throat
that bears
   a thought. 

The word dies 
   on fading waves – 
   others’ ears 
   the dark earth 
   of its grave. 

It lies 
   in darkness
   waiting
   for us to turn
      breaking the clods, 
         making tilth, 
            preparing earth
              where seed may grow.
     
-Tom Ravetz