I want to believe
that I am a man of words,
to think you would agree,
for words inundate my world.

In my home I live among words
some mine, mostly those of others.

They follow me like a shadow
at noon, the sun
always on my face.

I want to know what they
want from me but they
do not answer or simply say
“you already know what
we want, what we are.”

There are countless words that I
have never met, others I
have worn to the nub, but
they are the atoms of which
I am made and when
I am reduced to ashes
they will linger and I
will never know who
has inherited them.