Marks of meaning

inky scratches on pulped-up trees
pixels leaking across pastel screens
trailing smoke writ large across sky
these twenty-six marks shared wide
expressing the fruit of the mind
some plucked green and sour to taste
others bursting, heated, fermented
or brushed with the colour of ripening

for the essence of you we must use
the same name for the being of me
your love is my love is their love
as though our myriad affections
and joys must all feel the same
only words, these utterances
to which we trust all meaning
with which to capture everything

yet they are precious to some
wanted fiercely, sculpted freely
into clouds, into music and landscapes
keeping time with our fluttering hearts
giving voice to the thrumming and flooding