I can catch objects–
I catch them on hooks
enticing them
from my just-parted lips.
I drop them
to the bottom of my head.
I won’t go
on their looking glass trips.
Words are more
than a mirror can reflect.
They step
on as many feet as the can–
they tighten the knot
in which you lie
and circle back
to where it all began.
At my work
in the dead letter office
are lost objects
or so it seems to me.
They take away
what they almost offer:
graze each other
but miss intimacy.