To Know

I stumble
toes not broken
just words unspoken
Frozen on my staring lips

Something has my muscles
Spatula bats, perhaps
or a fishhook leech?
Why can I think of that
but not what I came to think of?

The right ideas beat on
a locked door of wrong ones
and I’m choking on the key
Maybe if I pried off the hinges . . .

You’re looking at me now
noticing that
I’m looking through you now
not noticing
but poaching for words
Crouched down in the long grass
of protracted indecision
and waiting
Praying
for something unsuspecting
to come by
Some meat to spit
over our conversation’s flames

But only crickets

Then the realization comes
A sudden wind
across the hammering stammers
that jam me
A calming breeze that
leads a chuckle
from deep inside
Buoyant and warm
it bubbles up
Real
How fine it feels
This inescapable
knowledge of self:
To know I am but a fool

cae 10-11-03