silence in your brushings/strokings/sway

and you make known your presence, your
chatter ‘long these walls, up to challenge,
though weakened with your language, your
hiding in the breath, on skin, through eyes,
you give to be taken in and, still, you speak,
you wash/click as through the brushings,
strokes, and, known, you ‘llow your sense
to be, a cradle of the mound, fresh-baked
to be a staple, stable, bustling make,
and, through these searchings, strikes,
you begin to break, as though in play,
in laughter, ‘cycled, way, you hover ’bout
to be as hand of teacher’s may, fal’n to
as festive hands may, from clap/from cheer,
though soft, to, unhindered, know, from
still as know from stalled, in as know from far,
yet, still, in stall, you give a know of all

i’m working with these words, and they belong to you,
and, when i stop, you need more, and my reluctance is but waiting
to take over, though, within me, still, i know you need/will have/deserve/will leave without more and more, and, despite, my not having/rotten thoughts, i tery, i give, as though taking from, a d feel you will find me false, though they are your words, and i am not a writer, but a fraid to go beyond the wallings of this head, and i know these tappings are without speed, with swift fingers/tipped/giving lead of me, and i hope you free them to, from thoughts, garbled/jarbled, to strike in means much longer resonating than these