20 september

full on tired as if conspired with
tomorrow like the sorrow of movement
without value of progress could
depress the steps in the ground
that travel round the earth while
the worth of every balance is held
accountable to the treasury of
knowledge and the call fledgling out
the new words still unheard of but
the true love of tongue ticks taste from
the air at the curve of a word we let slip to pass on