In this grammar
I am the keeper of a tiny fist

A wand to wave
Against a fury of verbs

It is mine
To witness
Fallen trees
Scramble light

Your inheritance of rage is bigger than my own
At last I seem almost reasonable

I guide you through spears of nouns
Constraints of style that seek to change you

You say your anger is the anti venom
In the bite of polite afternoons

I say it is
The mother tongue
A dialectic
Where death visits

Leaving us
Advanced upon by streams of chance

A vocabulary occurs
Built on fixed conversation

If we stop
We lose
The dialogue

An invitation to the dance
A chance
To turn away the silence