NEOLOGISM
I have made you, and now
I find uses for you everywhere.
My tongue hungers for you.
It would articulate your elegance,
and believe as long as it could that you exist
only for its sheltering mouth.
I know, however, that before long,
I will hear you in the speech of others.
CRAFTS
Someday, my children, to your children
they will mean nothing.
I am almost afraid to touch them,
but I want to hold them forever:
vessels and figurines in chipped
unfired clay, raucous tempera faces
on brittle yellowed paper freckled
with each year’s stealthy grit.
I know you have other things
to do now, but look, this morning
I with my red stubbly heart-
shaped face and ludicrous
wiry arms have made you
this poem.
