The Talking Cure
There is little to do here
But speak
Tremulous at first
Uncertain whether there is enough light under the sun
To counter the darkness of your secret,
Whether your dreaded thoughts
Might rumble the earth beneath.
Still you speak.
At first in fits and starts,
In whispers and breathy utterances,
Until words become truth
And truth become words.
Each syllable materializes
The solid ground beneath your feet
A path that unfolds through your speaking,
Without your knowing,
Taking you across mountains and rivers,
The length of mighty continents.