Logos

I taste the air
around my lungs,
reaching for divinity

a lone sparrow
that carries
a sacred missive,
in a perfect language

words that spoken together
stir hearts as one,
bringing all
to a place of knowledge
immovable
but traveling fathoms,
only ever touching
on the profound
never

(too much too soon)

Augurs will pronounce
peace to multitudes,
as in the opened wings
of a dove,
the first scribe of truth
lets one feather fall

the first contact
in the language
of the birds
was pure silence
that marked the depths

trilling a passage
to peace