“At three in the afternoon, I’m the most demanding woman
in the world . . . When it’s over, six in the afternoon comes, also
indescribable, in which I turn blind.”
-Lispector to Fernando Sabino, 1946
Dear C, I’m turning from.
Have been syntaxed and stirred into a purple.
Blurred to blind.
I made a mess of page twenty-two,
couldn’t resurrect what you left unsaid
into words that wouldn’t.
Do you believe in grieving?
I mean for language, the endangered
animal of, fleeing into caves.
I can only keep after it in fits
or I get trapped
in the keeping after. That,
Your spinning but devoted