The Lost Words
for Peter Gizzi
Lost words are lost girls
too close to the volcano
ash & what loose fire
what dormant birds
are here to fold us
into our little beds
come evening.
A dream’s a strange spectator.
A blind dog in the street
sniffing the asphalt for its
so-called owner.
Don’t fuck with the magic
of gravity, unless you’re
going to get undressed.
Unless you’re going to reveal
something to us
about how longing stagnates
in the blood.
