Like me, you sometimes waken
early in the dark
thinking you have been driven miles
through inward country,
feeling around you still
the streaming trees and startled waterfowl
and summered cattle
swinging through your headlamps.
Sometimes you linger days
upon a word,
a single, uncontaminated drop
of sound; for days
it trembles, liquid to the mind,
dimming in the undertow of language.