We Talk into Names

The mystery of the mark--
black and out of center--
taking my eye
and mind with it
into the immediate unknown,
that allusion to that
delicate bitter taste of of
behind your ear.

A lightless fold so close to bone
but beyond the solid and the soft we talk
into names.

This is where I fall,
all the way through the sky
inventing itself between us.

I touch this blank
with just enough aphasia to let it be
but with too much me
to leave it nameless.



by jerry gordon