Lexicography

We are focused, tight,
And it has always been our nature
To name —
To distinguish and discern,
Divisions defined.

You have a name, too,
And a long list of words to describe —
The outer mask,
Inner nature,
Growth above and below ground —
Words chosen by and for you.

Thus, the movement of thin hands,
Vein in the neck —
Name them.
The cracking skin —
Name it.
River-eye reflection
And the drum that marks the passage —
Name them.
A crow’s bone —
Name it.

Despite these attempts,
I never can quite
Put my finger on it,
Or pin it down.
Hovers like a dream
In the clocklight moon room.
(I try to hear with my eyes now.)

I tell myself
It’s some kind of story
Told long ago —
A hero myth
Or, perhaps,
A fairytale
With dark implications restored.
How these things happen —
Games of chance and choice.

Among the millions undefined,
My eyes wandered,
Searching for your familiar face.
The meanings had slipped their moorings,
And drifted away.
I let them go,
And looked
For something named
To embrace.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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