the world is babbled
to pieces
after the divorce of things
from their names,
like love and in-love.
all night and day it is spoken
each time inscribed,
then traced back to its origin.
we pass that word love
back and forth between us.
what is there to say?
our world is numb, and reeks with it.
numb and speaks in a hushed voice
that sometimes sounds like love.
it stuns me. I am so proud of my language,
my word, you'd think I'd invented it.
the truth is, it only hides the size of my desires.
and I take comfort in your soothing voice,
long before I ever even understood
the scope of the word
you offer me gently, from your mouth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem