Now say "public library" three times fast
and feel your voice give corners to the air.
Now hear the funny names my son has carried:
Boots and Gusto, Bips and Bixby, Mr. Sassafras
or Picklefeather—try that one on for size.
The skies in our heads are bright with characters,
song's constellations, linguistic cataract.
Steadily hewn, honed by angel tongues, words realize.