Checkin' things out by the river.
Daily I fall in love with words
with their heteronyms, antonyms, silent letters
WIND BOW STAND KNOW
and sources of origin.
I love how they fill up my ears
and slide into my eyes
jumping at me from pages
and street signs.
I feel their meaning
roughened by accents softened with whispers
slide over me.
Their double entendres
suggesting so…
fumbling and stuttering so sweetly
that I am left speechless, waiting.
Daily I fall in love with words
with their native languages.
They tell secrets in the paper
and I want them.
I know them.
They slip into history menus sermons songs–
their length long and short.
They have students or lovers or tweeters
or all.
They are anciently worldly–
they know how civilizations speak.
Their careful arrangements form paragraphs
and clauses.
Daily I fall in love with words.
They are conveyors of dreams.
But they never remain in vacuum
as they sustain explain rearrange.
listening to
the full, full, full, so full of you, the
drowning out of words of you, the
heavy-to-the-top of you, the steel-on-
steel-on-wheels of you, the
rusty clang, clang,
clank of you, the shaking air and
ground of you, the heat-till-red-hot
sound of you, the cars and crates and
squeaks and weight and chains and pops
and bangs and bright white
end-of-movie space
that follows
in your place.