On Trying (to Word)

but transient, not eternal,
and intangible?

wishing for something deeper
almost always, an intimacy
with the coldest body

maybe language . . .

as if speech could ever bend
its back
far enough over to pluck
what is fathoms away

in between
and until the end

skins eyes tongues, we have

forever the unsayable
disembodied
except where clouds
use me as fingers would
to dabble in

or perhaps, finally, the mute
are more essential
to the puzzle floating the rorid waves
of ocean’s windows

only at the end of us,
the real cannot be spoken

-JCS