Ars Poetica #263

How I feel this
late in the night
like unconscious words
setting the body to humming

I feel this like when you speak
from your hundred years dead mouth
and the words are warm still, warm,
the library all afire with song

I feel this, scratching through these veins
like a quill tip stretching ink 'cross parch-
ment sheaves, how I feel in the night
these dead hands shaking me awake,
clasping mine as I write.