And this, which is called "Tracing a Thirst," an attempt,
in fact, to trace exactly that trajectory of the poem to its
source.
Called it-- tracing a thirst, the poem as it
sluices a passage; with each, dry utterance,
edges towards its own obfuscated source.
No, not the world, the world's, but, perhaps,
its very postulate, what the winds would
lap, and the tongue, ultimately, muscle--
breath, like so many empty bubbles,
brought to that pleated lip.