Ask Me For The Question Poem by Lucas German

It is the refracted yawning early morning dawn break as seen through a still squinting eye, weightless silken air streaming round a radiant sky, framing and illuminating the window across the hedgerow through with my sight can go and see into a distant zone, some pocket or cone of expanding something I've never known, of structures with infinite grace, built out of nothing and filling the space. It is the hidden home, the seed which has grown what none could have sewn, an abode in which to shoulder no load, a haven of rest at the end of the road. It is a daily smile worn, the painless easing of every fear borne. It is the frozen nights made warm, heat in human form. It is a cracked open door for a whisper, and nothing more, to tremblingly pour out onto the floor to be calmly collected, and the words once inspected stored away and protected.