I
She shuns the page
Ignores the pen
Only the wordless train of staff and beat
Words have no fire for her
They do not arise in her
They do not awake in dreams
Words have no fire for her
They do not leap like basilisks across the page
There are no birds
There are no metaphors
Words are creosote
Words have no fire for her
II
Archaic words
Newborn words
Ancient words
Future words
Words that harden in centuries
Like coral dressed in fire
Only to release
A million words into
The current in their ardor
III
Feral words
Raised by wolves
Nursed by wild teats
Milk fed words
Left to fend for themselves in the night
These words are skinks
Shiny and gone
Lift the leaf and you will find them!