the tenth poem –

of you, I spoke in rhythm,
with waves and pleasure
banging my calves as I began.

knowing not.
caring little.

opening my mouth
to the possibility of poetry
in your being.

and this led,
as all words do,
to miscomprehension and interpretative fault
and long pauses
and hesi
tation.

so i spoke more of love,
as if to capture
in the noise
some essence
of that thing
that makes me dizzy with you.

and it was infantile,
as all words will be
when we utter
love.

so I spake of my own being
and tried to keep it short.

which is very hard to do
for one who speaks
so
much.

and it was
predictably dictable,
dour,
and rife with words like rife.

so I spoke of things we shared
and then things we knew
and then things material,
then immaterial,
and the words cluttered the air
around me,
filtered through the place between us,
gnatlike possessions,
so the light became viscous and milky.

and I spoke softly to myself
to hear
my own
voice.

I spoke softly to myself
to reach you.

and then,
I stopped speaking,
and simply opened my eyes.





GLS
12.30.04