Conversely

Conversely / Josua Alan Sturgill

The paper is my body; 
the ink is my open hand.

Is this why intricate
couples' dances 
rise from dark,
tilled earth, while
over concrete and tile
we dance alone?

A bitter, dry wind
is confidence in words.

So sit with me
in the garden.  Drink
mint, rue and sage
I've grown 
with my open hand.
We will trade
exchanges of sound
for the balm
of meaning

All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2026 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.