this name has a poem.
i lose it while listening to the sound.
this poem gives itself my life
to walk across time as though
i were stars, warm and dark
with the reflections of a lake.
i believe in sin. i believe it is
the origin of hope. and my face
holds this poem as it listens sadly.
rain to the places you’ve forgotten:
horses rise and the lifeless carousel
on my face spinning afternoons
dark turntable coming from the idea
of my other nowhere.
i lose music, or my body.
i lose a face, a terrifying face and turn
this human heart into things walked upon stead,
ready to be more faithful than the lie.
the name and its poem. water my word.
his music telling me what it is like to turn a wheel
words of the spinning and loss. in memory of
grandfather’s name. this name has a poem, like any music.
come to the river with me, it says.