← v11n1, Spring 2012
Poetry · Volume 11, Number 1

Irreducible is what I’m after,

which is why I cannot mind so much observing

how words are more precise or less precise, but they

are not exact. Not ever. No. And yes, each proves

solicitous and pleasant on the tongue, and more

than a little tolerant of one’s most earnest

yammering; still, the promise of each word abides

within its endless, largely inarticulate

expanse. The dancing figures of our utterance

forever spin their circles; they forever turn

upon the sawdust-littered floor. And even as

we speak we see our good intentions leaping clean

beyond our reach. And each for its duration lifts

the stillness into trouble. For its bright moment,

each obtains for us a little taste of what lit

distance we would entertain, irreducible.

So, yes, more precise or less precise, but words

are not exact.