Hand typed by author on to 6x6” recycled sturdy card stock.
First 50 are dated and numbered.
Poem text:
Dolphins have no vocal cords, yet still
They speak — every note a bubble pulled
From the lung’s deep purse, a silver coin
Spent in water. The blowhole opens,
Closes, like a camera aperture,
Capturing a portrait. Each click
& whistle is intention breathing, breath
Shaped into a map, a warning, a love song;
Survival sculpted into music,
Like how our words dissolve, how we laugh,
How the breath catches the rim of our ribs,
How maybe all language is simply the body
Trying to live just one second longer.
Hand typed by author on to 6x6” recycled sturdy card stock.
First 50 are dated and numbered.
Poem text:
Dolphins have no vocal cords, yet still
They speak — every note a bubble pulled
From the lung’s deep purse, a silver coin
Spent in water. The blowhole opens,
Closes, like a camera aperture,
Capturing a portrait. Each click
& whistle is intention breathing, breath
Shaped into a map, a warning, a love song;
Survival sculpted into music,
Like how our words dissolve, how we laugh,
How the breath catches the rim of our ribs,
How maybe all language is simply the body
Trying to live just one second longer.
