Recovered Memory

1 December 2013

Spur of slipped
serif
a jolt of brittle
outside, in a rasp,

a kenning of a not-
given-shape, a noise
like grass and trees
unmouthed, long water

ripening,
wind-flutes of bamboo,
some kind of this-ness
lost, a seed of many

silences begets
its pitch
and shift, coughs a glottal

choke of stress
the affricates align
the soft of lauds begins
to pattern in my mind

and I become of scales
which lip
my skin to pearl
and now I know

that I was there—
zoetic in the plangent
dark, a breathing
through a hyoid bone

an unhatched word,
a stuttering in
the throat of mud,
just as fish dried into legs

and Earth was tamed
by naming

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