to say it, does the pathos
of a half-moon
made of crinkled-
but-unblemished paper
in a sky
of ink make
sense to you?
My guess is—the linguists
were wrong
about the world we interact in
being really made
of grammar.
But perhaps,
what there is
is a pyramid
of syntax—a chain
of command
in those words
which are good—
a hierarchy
of all those
mysterious phrases
which swirl and tumble
and jockey
in our chests
like still-
forming pearls for the
chance to be expressed—
yet which
cannot be grasped
or appraised, just
understood.
