box of jars

ming holden
Ground Passage

This ice is not the ice they knew.
I make 

What I am giving 
Up by opening
My mouth so that 
Renamed ice 
Can affect my tongue with holes 

And I learn a new language.

						The twilight happened flat between thin white trees
						Ebbing reveries.

						It happens now in darker branches, cradled, releasing.

Hush, I tell them, touching out.

Connect us.