For some time now

I have dreamed of words that do not exist

rather than words that exist.
The words that are quickly assimilated

into the family members are not the words; his words

do not come to resemble something

do not come to explain something.
As the range of these words

did not strike me readily,

I had to be silent like a mute for many days.

Sometimes, I banged on the wall again and again.
Even today I am searching for these words

and wandering like a starving ghost.

Somewhere on a street corner,

the words may swallow my body.

I may have to vomit those words up

as a quite different life.

The words might vomit up the bones,

and say, “It’s a word.”