The form a thought takes, so that I know
I thought it, noun and verb in order, bound
together by a magnetic force so
strong that once fused can't be undone, sound
and meaning, this my language, my grammar
the crude tool I use to make the world make
sense. But language becomes a hammer
turning the world to nails. Words are opaque.
Those moments when the screen of words gives way
the world pours through, all liquified. Last light
on the lake before the sun goes down, aflame
We dived into the water that was ice
not so long ago, lay skin to skin, speechless
Under the aurora borealis
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