The Language of the Soul

My thoughts are like the wind,
Invisible until 
Caressing grassy hills
Or woods of evergreen 
And oak, little fingers 
Running through the leaves 
Signaling intention 
And implying power
Barely held in check.

To speak such thoughts, to make
Them bend linguistically
Removes some part, defying
Pen and ink or tongue.
Such thoughts require a tactile
Sense of mind to mind
By contact skin to skin,
A Morse-like code decoded

Only by two who know
The language of the soul.

Bryan Ness
Published in Poetalk