In the market below the mountain
I am surrounded.
Vermillion, goldenrod, azure:
these colors are known to me there
but here they only scream
unnamed, they accuse.
Words whispering, curling
around tiniest bones. They vibrate
yet fail to sing– how is it
that my very bones reject
what they should know
marrow-deep?
Into osseous fissures
meaning slips away, honey-slick.
I am left to fumble
to pause. Hesitate–
my conjugations beg
for clemency.
Blind and alone
under night’s shroud
I chant consonants
in conjunction with vowels.
My prayers are answered
but not well enough.
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It is true;
I have forgotten.
My ties have worn through
& as my tongue stumbles
over unworn paths
everyone knows
of my truancy.