For the Day Four prompt, well, kind of. Photo by Abeer Zaki on Unsplash
**
it lingers on the edge
of my tongue, its heft
hanging heavy, marinating
in its moistness, each letter,
alive, each syllable
yielding to the next,
then fading like the morning mists
wisps, resplendent, gracing the
verdant green but then
losing themselves to the
rising heat. I count to three
and then exhale, each breath
a gift from earth, now returned.