In front of fire I read what you wrote
where scattered words were not contained by lines
chaos drenched in lead and heavy inked footnotes
lie disregarding truth where it was signed
From what I can decipher you end with
something in French or maybe Catalan
a morsel of the long forgotten myth
you told me was only seldom spoken
Written in code I sift through the commas
answers hidden in phrases I don’t know
metaphors or clauses in your clauses
while the afterglow shines your tobacco
Stained pages and smudges in dying light
how words keep changing to soot or cinder
What is seen as right to choose what to write
You left me with just splinters of wonder
A Word I Haven't Found Yet 