Starts with salt
& a knife or just wanting
a knife

you think you are
sitting at a table maybe
your breath turns

into wet sand
inner gag & heave
with hand on your torso

for no clear reason—
Your breathing's fine
you're just being an ape

the way they move low
as though full
of condensed hazel light

somewhere in the no-speech
the no-tongue
the almost-us eyes

that is where we meet—
They've not heard
of the salt & knife

but they can sit
at the same table
& almost know

what they are
saying when they sign
Give those to me

Arto Vaun

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