Stephanie Arwen Lynch

I have lost my tongue
While speaking sweet mysteries
Gone from me like a feather from a caged dove
My lathe for talk has erased itself.

There are no more words
That I can offer for
When I do I lose my place
And must turn back to remember what I was.

The dove is grey in her cage
Yet white on the wing.
Is there a mystery
Or is it just the bending of light again?