Some Words

I recorded her, as if data would take the longing out

or, blander than that: a mind-made sense-

less spread, a persistent mother-track,

like a thing she wore or said.

something called the “super commons” isn’t a store but it will be.

some words outspend themselves so fast—fly

by and leave us as we were, not particularly

altered.

once I went swimming naked in a pond

then they put me in a bathing suit and filmed me.

I, a seen thing, glided by thin trees.

but what’s on the stove and in the book and also at the door

won’t speak to me anymore anymore.

she lies so still

just a not-mine stone

& these opaque measures in the mouth

are all what her once words now are.