Language staying gently on your lips
Before being layered and laid
Upon ours.
Straying somewhat from the source;
Significantly indifferent once retold
By others.
Alive no longer with the voice
Of reason, or scented with what was
Always yours.
Dead upon revival, and re-used
Without intent once misplaced between
Old covers.
Discussed for a while and removed
To the warehouse where nothing is known
Or returns.
Collected by urgent arrangement one day,
And produced to evidence the truth
Of your case.
Dismissed as unlikely and lost from the dock
Whilst being escorted away from the court,
Once adjourned;
Rushed downhill towards the loneliest vale,
Where the map runs out of names for the last
Restful place.
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