There is a magic to words
They bring to me the cacophony of war
Alongside the brush of butterfly wings
I feel them as a cool caress of water sliding under my fingertips
I see the bard
his fingers lifted to stroke the tail of the wind out of the trees
his eyes flashing in the grip of the silken cobweb of his weaving
And I know that words travel in a voice,
And voiced words are mangled and changed
And forgotten
But written words will speak through Time