My words dry up
To speak becomes a Lochness monster
And the horizon closes its throat,
I feel I’ve grown old since the day I first parted
From the many of you,
Under your many heads, one face piqued.
The sorrow that comes my way
And I think about a man left alone in a cave for 55 years
Till his tongue tired without practice,
He forgot language.
How easy it is to belong to one flesh
Only to be shorn off with a simple letter-knife.
A mad bird sits upon my lips,
Carving in my gums,
The troops of words that march past me
Whenever I see your face;
In my head, an avalanche.