I Talk to Another More Than Myself
Jennifer Kronovet

The same words: anathema,

bibliographic, mark

 

our language as fallen.

Stencils of trees to decorate trees.

 

At the museum, you are impressed

by ancient bronze. Metal ribs

 

of another. I wield a dull knife

to my way of seeing:

 

the thoughts, not muscles,

feel the threat. The word-hinges—

 

like tools of unknown origin—

exposed under the more modern way

 

to light the artifacts. My use of

you could distill us, make room

 

for another experiment in materials.