1

Forms work
their way through words
in the night hospital
where language doesn’t fall apart
but holds.

2

So speech
arranges self
into sustainable
small holdings, farmed leaseholds that
earn bucks.

3

We till
imagined soil
with grammar. We speak to
language to console it. We brush
its teeth.

4

Although
I’m divided
into halves by the knife
I pin myself together with
language.

5

Words are
my surgery.
They make a new body
which is better than mine and speaks
the world.

6

So night
offers new words
to the body that talks
for hours and erupts into song
at times.

7

Night words
invent night. They
move into form by stealth.
Stealth is the best thing about them,
poor ghosts.

8

Words talk
about themselves
deeply fascinated
by their mere existence, their
crisp tongues!

9

Remake
or unmake me,
dear language. Speak for me
beyond my worth or weight. Become
body.

10

I’ll shut
my mouth for now,
language. But you’ll not shut
yours. Do we have a deal, language?
Say yes.