What is asked of us

The question echoes
Paralyzing in the intensity of its demand
Caught in desperation to have the final fear answered
Yearning still to be undelineated, a word constantly writing itself anew
Tasting the truth of myself with each exhalation stirring the weave
Changing patterns of warp and weft
If we are but narratives moving across the face of the worlds
Then each moment I tell afresh every answer there ever was
Weaving words as worlds, as selves, as truths
Spinning new threads with each breath
It is a flavor on the skin
The violence of a pen stroke
Being torn asunder as my Speaker stirs, stretching forth for the glory of movement
Feathering across my innards
A striving that becomes it’s own demand
Body bowed, tongue limned
Burgeoning forth an answer in the living of it

Who are you?

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