The Sicilian Talker

“He loved the sound of his own voice.”
          He was a musician
          who played his body
          to a verbal score
          waving his eyebrows
          pursing his lips
          carving shapes with his hands
          to a rhythm learned in another land

“He beat around the bush forever.”
          He was a sculptor in clay
          who worked with his hands
          adding flesh
          bit by bit
          onto thin wire words

“He would talk to anyone.”
          He was a street corner preacher
          inviting all who would listen
          to join in the ritual
          of gesture and word

“He made sense in the end.”
          He was a marathon coach
          shouting in your ear
          dragging you through miles of words
          to the prize of a fresh insight