What you could not say—
how it is first the sacrum,
not the mouth, that pleads
release, slight extension
of the leg, irrepressible itch
at the nape of the neck.
You breathe. Sense the others
folded neatly into the absence
of words, a kind of music, the meeting
of eyes with another. You busy yourself,
search the smaller, more crowded
rooms of your mind, the way around
the house of your psyche—
