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When I can't find the word I'm looking for |
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I reach into the drawer with four tries |
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but nothing sticks. Nothing sticks. |
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There's no telling why I opened it. |
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I try, but I just forget. |
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What there once was, I have not forgotten. |
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What there once was, it won't leave me alone. |
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The synapses still fire and direct my thoughts, |
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but they seem tired of hunting for homes. |
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And I'm not brave enough to say that I am not afraid, |
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should I return to confused bits of blindness, |
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a tongue wanting words in the sweet speech finds a form, |
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then returned to the bald toothless need of a child hunched and cradled |
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(his spine returns the curl to fit the cleft of an arm). |
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O, we are embarked and return to the place we start |
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To thrash against it. |
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It's a wild thing to accept. Who can hold it? |
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Think about the loss of anything. |
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Well, someday if you wake to a nameless stranger in me, lead me outside. |
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Let me go. |
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If I'm already there, just let me go. |
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I'm not. |
