Writing to you, singing into your ears
or seeing into eyes—the hearer's gaze,
the rishi's pure-clear mind. Language is used
to bring the divine down from on the top
of the tall mountains. What else can I hear
but her? I cannot seem to ever know
a space that isn't hers, I cannot hear
a sound that isn't understood by silence.
I want her in my mouth like words, I write
my poems on her body. The tongue I use
to move the air is hers, the luminaries
that wander in the sky establish time
and manifest a calendar. I make
her body into language with my want.
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