I reread your poems this morning
after my class on the language I’m
learning—the one that’s spreading
in my chest because of you.
I still have
few words, but the few I do have are
so big and beautiful that I keep nearly
forgetting to exhale as they descend
upon me, clinging and gnawing on my
flesh until I ask them to hold me tight
and hum me to sleep. They do.
They wait for me to wake up.
I wait too.
I have few words, and where
they’re taking me, I’m no longer sure.
I reread your poems this morning.
I understood more than last time
and because of that, I think
I know less.