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!