I am asking you I’m asking as you
come yes
As you draw nearer as you slowfoot closer
Kicking dust down this pig-trail I’m asking you
In this your happy answerlessness in
this realm
This place happening forever to us
breathing
The same syllables for once underway
making
Toward something open and occupiable
The addressable Thou is what Celan
called it
The Thou in this till now
undreampt-of sense
Perhaps—I’m only asking—perhaps you see
Poetry’s lips move even hear a
tongue
Bumping teeth and a throat making
sounds
If you feel it do you feel it then
it’s you you
Hear here in the distance poetry
must travel
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