Lost Words

In clicks and sobs this expresses,
the frayed language of 'child'
neither english nor
appreciably meditteranean;
the tongue does not yet comprehend
subtleties of latin gone astray.
It is instead the hitched

whine

of chickenpox
while someone else drinks
at the countertop to
cool the fever down.
The woman is always coaxing
with wide face and lined eyes,
her lipstick bright her lids afire,
leaning down and saying
walk, sweetness, come
closer and say my name.
There is something goblin
in the golden skin,
always fading into something

like

away as it becomes
the curled back of brown hair
without eyes.
Neither english nor
appreciably mediterranean
the frayed language of 'child',
in clicks and sobs this expresses

syllables

lost in the roar of Geraldo
and William Tell.