language isn't this

as nervous then fail to notice shrinking

of sand in its tribulation to accumulate time

darkness around the swift of hair the swept

word a signal flashing in hidden decibels

last the inarticulate by you I have become

syntax of statues again becoming other than

ranunculus and butterfly thin streams of wind

will we too then pass through ears of sand

come back should you ever stair-top distance

and falling you detach shadow from frame

nor does anchored to clouds sleep resolve a

only to drown mirror face down in what were

dreamt or perhaps never been but in footnotes

none can read the remotely thumbed pages torn

Recombinant shuffle of lines from

Ivan Argüelles' Sonnets 1 - 8