Language which says enough,

no more, no less,

simply that which has to be said.

Strung together, red pearls

rolled around the cheek with thought,

care and attention.

Red bead speech holds words

which float, crimson clean,

from that quiet place where

the heart has broken open

there is no going back.

I have collected a thread of letters

uttered through strange sounds and syllables.

Their grit,

caught by an oyster tongue,

born from irritation,

has become slowly

smoothed, polished, jewelled.

Dive deep and bring them to the surface,

shucking with gloved hand against

the flat rimmed voice of a cock pheasant

perched on the lightning branch,

his tail a bobbing rudder

in balance against his croak.

Red bead speech,

smoothed by the weight of stone

on the side of a hill.