If Soliloquy Can Be a Nest

If soliloquy can be a nest,

come here and listen, but speak,

that I may refrain 

from hazing otherness

to draw near. Who am I 

when not speaking?

The sound of ice, the sound

of tissues of heat when

summer strums its reputation

in frame. Intonation remains

an act of will. Until it is

wildly heard. And shifts

as each breaks 

away into another 

entity. A splintered one.

Speaking from innocence

versus experience.