not the world not the cosmos
not all this surplus,
but the words that endlessly go there
words faster than a wind's cold breath
snow flakes syllables colder than ice
these they trade among each other
words and reversals and promises again
piece by piece by many words
as if by piecework they climb
towards undeceived meanings
yet in the end nothing remains
no echo follows laughter
no river reaches as far as tears
all song struck dead by an order of language
-------
as of
Friday, June 09, 2006