If I cannot recognize day from night. If I am anything but a trace.
I am vindicate. I am undone of guilt, unable to arrange the future.
Or see it even before me.
The arrival of the car is the arrival of the car with me not in it.
There was a witness to me. Who led out from me: a night stained.
Night filled with birds’ eggs. Night filled of storm.
My hands unwilling care for you unconscious.
My hands unwilling come for you direct.
Small string ties from a torn shore-lace.
Who says a lisp is more attuned
to actual speech. Then my buoyant body up—
I am alone and floating.
When r’s are slurred into w’s round doesn’t become wound but wound.
|past simple home|