In Tongues

From all the pebbles, a gathering,
a pattern             and

that separation from faint juniper in the wind,
the rustle of trees’ skirts, confusing sunlight,
a              rainfall of light patterns

and                        the distant traffic of
conversations.  Uneven cobblestone confuses
balance and unbalanced, I grip your hand

in the din of falling words
from an immodest                          tongue.