She decides to flee in another language
This idea of innermost
loss
that seeps through everything
on the other side
of the window
a tantrum of clouds.
If I could stay forever
with your spices
I would spoil the cliffs.
Let’s think about the word
space as in a
tongue tripped up
by discoveries.
The last time I saw you
you looked like a sigh lost
in the pages of some comic.
Yes, I know:
a slant look
is not like having
your roots upside down
or kissing the mailman,
transcending you.
Liquid
To water does not cover
how grateful
the plant must be
if you water it.
Plant seems
inadequate
for naming all
the green of leaves.
She is noble,
I say when they see her
with each one
of her vortices
passively reclaiming
its circumference.
We say diluting
as it’s been called
elsewhere
and its tone is not
quite right either.
Something like misting
but stronger,
because this water
that pours from me is great.
The acrobatics
of inventing a verb
that does justice
to its accident.
To downpour the sky
will take for itself.
I perceive a liquid
action, not liquidating,
fair, not flooding.
Difficult to bear light
in water.
Spelling in the dark
How you abeecee
your sleepwalking eyelashes.
Trace of spasm.
Undeniable presence
of smoke of smoke
I said.
I arrange the furniture
by the first syllable of silence.
I use it to sew the defeat of the gaze
you gifted me that day,
the distant births,
and strangely I manage
to rattle the rearview mirrors.
Even though we’re no longer
late for school.
It is the last stage
of a gravitational collapse
it is.
