There is a story that I must tell, but The feeling in my chest is too tight, and innocence Crawls through the tangles of fear, leaving, Dry and translucent, only its old skin behind like A garter snake's annual discard in the ground juniper. If only

I could say just the first word with breath As sweet as a babe's and with no history---but, Christ, If there is no history there is no story. And no Time, no word. For then there is nothing for a word to be about, a word

Being frozen Time only, and I have dived deep Where light faded from gold to dark blue, and darker below, And my chest was filled with a story like innocence, But I rose, rose up, and plunged into light-blaze brutal as blackness, And the sky whirled like fireworks. Perhaps I could then have begun it.

If only the first word would come and untwist my tongue! Then the story might grow like Truth, or a tree, and your face Would lean at me. If only the story could begin when Time truly began, White surf and a storm of sunlight, you running ahead and a smile Back-flung---but then, how go on? For what would it mean?

Perhaps I can't say the first word till I know what it all means. Perhaps I can't know till finally the doctor comes in and leans.