La source

Out of words, out of tea leaves
out of an autumn stew
of currents, out of the enigmatic
behavior of extraterrestrials

I have come, with sandwiches,
with adjacencies, with territoriality,
with fragments of patterns,
with Eros, with grease and with dirt.

I possibly have to look up a word
I possibly have to cross one out
I’m looking for two good words,
masking tape, and crayons to color them in with

I live in a cave, drums beat
smoke from fire finds fissures
A fawn frees its head
from a drawing of a fawn

The world’s timid hum is always present
as I do something absentmindedly
smart or elegant, classically trained
or detachable, like metallic embroidery

In a jar of preserved sanity
a version is stabilized, exact
At this point in the score
trilling turns into trembling