Lexicon with one lonely resident
squeezing along the walls or some Northern Forest.
We could never talk with so few words, not for long anyway.
Not long enough to make it all right. To excuse him for having
said. For rattling the walls awake with his tin cup– it’s the other, see-
pointing to his open mouth. How else could you visit someone,
but silently, in their silence? Both desperate for some understanding.
To hold up an edge. Lift the corner of the room and taste the
milk collecting there. Milk of the great cat who yearns toward you,
me, albedo, to wash in it, you and your other. Wash under words.
Surrender, after a week of cursing. Run East just before sunrise.
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