TheTime it Takes Bended Words to Light

Like light,  words are bended.
No, I don't mean bent, as in damaged.
More like formed that way.
Again, like light on a cloudy day
Its intention is already the case.
Just the wounded way it winds
Through this table, that pole,
The black vertical bars of this rail.
Words are like this. They hold
Themselves up. They persevere in
The face of pauses.  They adhere
To surfaces and give rise to a
Land between light and darkness.
Construction is always under way,
Deadlines loom at the end of every
Sentence. Even these words are
Trying to describe themselves.
But do they ever fly straight and true?
Are they like that tail too long
That restricts their flight, or that
Tail too short that spins them
Careening past meaning.
We cannot hold them
Like an apple or a lover.
They arise in the mind and
Are already bending,  as they
Travel from some deeper mouth
Toward a voice the world can hear.
A good stenographer will take them down.
It may be you, it may be another.
Paper, ink, lead, electricity, magnetism, memory.
They stick, manifest, held there
By necessity, by fascination, desire, by love.
   I shade my eyes. Out there
Past the breakers, something is giving rise.
The sound begins to reach me  an
Instant before it releases its form,
Breaking along the shore from
Stage right to stage left.
This is the time it takes bended words to light.