The impossible appeals
to my homely economy.
A yard of names in rising
follows the long-forgiven
unfortunate comparison: river.
Wind of the stream. Bright scribbled others.
You on the 2nd floor. Them on the fifth.
Coded in cold I remember how cold.
Hewn like an old crayon box. The sun.
The whole world came to its lecture.
I was startled and stammered to recognize myself
in the pressed-out debris of each book’s tongue.
They came at me like fond hordes like damp fire.