What if words rose and rose and overflowed their boundaries, overflowed separation and species… pouring into a language-in-motion, a communion of verbs?

What would be the verb for ‘ocean’… how would we write the word ‘wind’, quaking and shaking, wandering rooftops, lonely for wild kin?

I am open to being a scribe, a mother weaving words from one queendom to another, looming them, blooming them, from soil to dewdrop to cedar tree, from death to life. Words in motion, fine as dandelion silk, lit by a star.

How do we hear you Mother Earth, how do we write you, so that we speak one language-in-motion, and hear with one ear-of-joy?

Julia Casciola ©