Let me tell you this once
（I will not be able to say it again）：
I have lost the meaning of words.
Heavy， they ripped away from the sounds，
fell into cracked ground. For weeks
I scratched but what I dug up was
bicycle spokes， black melon rinds，
a smashed doll face——it was not meaning.
I don't know what I am saying.
I exaggerate. Not everything is gone.
I still know perfectly what sugar means，
and pine needle. Laughter is more
of a problem. And yellow often slides，
a plate of butter in the sun.
The meaning of flower has gone entirely；
so has the meaning of love. Now it is safe
to say： I love you. Now it is true
