Babble

Say under land
are remembered and muddy
rushes, slows. Next

to nothing migrates
up. Like ladders
of new fungus

ladder limestone rock only
just thinkable
and untooled into,

I moved my feet
then saw prints of no
value. I was born

and did not speak.
Took taking place in
increments. Speech,

in the specks
of sounds I forgot
how to make, machine,

animal, grabbable,
still indexes only desire
in the throat opening.

Notes:

Lines in this poem take up and alter language from Daniel Heller-Roazen’s Echolalias (Zone Books, 2005).

Source: Poetry (April 2024)