Dear language, most thick

at the base of the throat upon my
first rising; that foams, goad

and decoy to the blood’s
otherwise routine wandering—
Waking chimes, alarms

of bells are not as surprising
as what you will or won’t take
under advisement—

it is the small
and poorly represented
whose depositions you take,

whose counsel you prepare;
it is the jasmine shedding
its withered blossoms

that gives most scent,
all those night-blooming flowers
hiding their faces from sight.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.